


One That Walks The Veil

by Khaleda



Category: Teen Titans (Animated Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-02-09 20:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 62,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12896376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khaleda/pseuds/Khaleda
Summary: This may end terribly. She knew; they knew. They didn't care. And like so many nights before, the two of them moved together in a stream of moonlight, a mingled wave of gold and black, making every last moment last.A story framing the duality of love, and everything endured for it's sake.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place outside the Teen Titans universe, set in the middle age. Some characters are original for the sake of plot, and some known characters are not who they seem. Abilities have been subdued but not forsaken.

Joyful music blasted, echoing into the high, arched ceilings of the palace of Olisgard. Servants, house staff and attendants scurried about, hefting jugs of wine and beer, toting armfuls of food to the feast in the great hall. The entire palace was in motion, a flurry of faces streaming in and out, boastful and elated.

One woman, pale and hooded, hovered on the outskirts of the commotion. This—all of this—was her doing. The party. The crowd of people storming the halls. The triumph in the air. It made her sick. She headed towards the kitchens, hoping to slip out the back doors and disappear into the night.

“Priestess!” a squeaking voice called. “Priestess!”

A sudden unwelcomed presence appeared at her side. She hesitated ten paces from the kitchen, where the doors swung open and closed. A young page jiggled beside her.

“That’s not my title, boy.”

“Uh, my lady, I mean no disrespect,” he stammered. “You’re from the desert temple, I—I thought you to be a priestess of Se—”

“What is it? I’ve somewhere to be.”

The page straightened his jacket, standing tall and proud. “The king requests your presence in the throne room.”

A cold wash of dread overcame her. It was too much to hope he would let her slip back into the shadows after asking so wrong a task of her. It was too much to hope at all.

“I will tell him you’re on your way.” He darted down the hall before she could growl out for him to wait.

Would there be no conclusion to this suffering? Would her humiliation never end? Cursing under her breath, she headed to see his majesty, King Dominick Kenos, killer of her people.

**O.O.O.O.O**

The indigenous people of the Hudar were a nomadic race, maintaining a vast territory of river valleys, parched deserts and snow-covered mountains. Legends told that the Hudar were a cursed race, gifted in craft, capable of powerful magic. Their leader, Daskis, was rumored to wear a helm carved of a wolf skull. Clad in leather and hides, he rode a massive grey horse that breathed fire. They had no city, no court; no temples. They were barbarians wandering an unforgiving land. But all it took to change one sovereign’s mind was the lure of precious gems and metals hidden in that torrid, wind-scarred ground.

King Dominic Kenos spent months building an army to conquer the task. The forges of Norr glowed molten red all hours of the day, spewing out armor, swords and shields. Ambition drove Kenos to be the king who claimed the wild lands. All would remember his name. He was confident of his victory the day his troops first set foot in the Hudar.

And for more than a year, the soldiers failed miserably. Heavy with steel armor and swords, the soldiers were no match for the Hudar warriors on horseback. Light as the wind, they sailed through the ranks, curved swords, short bows and spears tearing the eastern intruders to pieces. The Hudar wore robes of purest black, headdresses hewn from skulls and scarves around their faces. The dark, tattered material flapped in the wind, billowing around them in wraithlike terror. Their horses were nimble-footed, quick, and as fearless as their riders. The few soldiers who made it back to Norr reported as such, calling the warriors _za’hava_. A Hudar word that translated to: _one that walks the veil_.

Furious with impending failure, Kenos scoured his nation for anything that might give him an edge in battle. Nothing worked, and as the body count increased, and national favor for the excursion dwindled, Kenos grew desperate. His name would forever be sullied, his soldier’s deaths in vain. He turned to the gods.

Kenos consulted his priests, asking for guidance. Time and time again, the answer was clear: leave the Hudar be. It was a fool’s game. But he would not be deterred. It took weeks of tedious searching, but Kenos was able to track down a secret hidden away in the desert.

A young woman, twenty-some years old. Born in the wilds of Hudar, she was captured near the southern province of Norr and raised under the strict tutelage of the high priestess of Sekhmet. She possessed the unique ability of foresight, honed sharp by the Priestess Khalimat, earning her the infamous title as Prophet.

And as such, Kenos summoned her to Olisgard in much haste. Her arrival at the palace was a highly anticipated affair, rumors of a barbarian witch spreading like wildfire. Kenos met her in a quiet room away from prying eyes. He wanted this meeting to go undisturbed. However, he had not fully prepared for her arrival.

A lanky, wary creature stepped before him, long hair the color of the night sky, braided loosely, held back from her face with a piece of leather chord. Violet eyes studied him briefly before flickering elsewhere. A beautiful woman, in a rough-spun, scowling way.

But, what was she wearing? Black robes, tattered and near transparent in places, and several fraying scarves wrapped around her neck. Rags. At least she wore sandals, albeit unkempt leather ones. Didn’t the people of the temples wear white? Ah, but she wasn’t a priestess. Prophet or not, she was a Hudar woman, clad in the clothing of her people. A misplaced soul in this land, looking every bit the part of what the rumors spoke; a witch. He dared not speak that in her presence. Not for fear of offending her, but for fear of her refusing to aid him. He had a feeling, from her aloof gaze, that threats and torture would be completely wasted.

The priest escorting her, Favir, drove the heel of his palm into her side. “Address your king!”

She glared at Favir instead, dark eyes like daggers.

Kenos chuckled. “She doesn’t like you, does she, brother?”

“Apologies, your grace.” Favir held his hands wide in placation. “She is weary from traveling. Give her a day to rest and I promise, she will give you all the answers you seek.”

“An understandable request after such a long journey.” Kenos gestured to the door, and a young servant girl darted in, obediently waiting at his side. “See to it that my guest is quartered comfortably for the night. Priest, I assume you will require a bed in the palace temple, yes?”

Favir hesitated, glancing at his charge. “Your grace, I’ve been sworn to guard the Prophet. She’s of great valuable to the temple of Sekhmet. I must remain by her side until her return or Priestess Khalimat will have me beheaded—”

“Nonsense.” Kenos waved the notion away. “My personal guard walks these halls every minute of the day. The Prophet will be safe and sound in her room, I assure you.” He looked at her then, waiting for those odd violet eyes to dart in his direction. “You would prefer some time to yourself, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, your grace.” She sent a calculated stare towards the priest. “I would like that very much.”

Favir’s scowl grew ten-fold.

Kenos laughed. Perhaps this Hudar wasn’t too bad, after all. He slapped Favir on the back, jarring the thin-boned man into a startled, nervous smile. “See? The woman is weary of your company! Come, you and I will fetch a drink, and I will give you a personal tour of the temple.”

Favir looked horrified. “I really must insist—”

“My word is final, priest,” Kenos said.

“Yes, your grace.” Favir sighed, and followed Kenos down the hall.

**O.O.O.O.O**

The prophet watched Favir slink away, out maneuvered by the most powerful man in the kingdom. Proof, perhaps, that the gods did exist. “Great stars, I never thought I’d be rid of him.”

The servant girl hovered at the open door, expression expectant. “My lady, this way.”

Eighteen years or so, she was lithe and well dressed for a servant. Like so many in Olisgard, the girl had light blonde hair, a smooth olive complexion and well trained posture.

“I’m in no hurry to be locked in another room.”

“My lady, the king instructed me to—”

“Yes, yes.” Such devotion to protocol. It exhausted her already. “What’s your name?”

She looked aghast at the question. “Did I do something to offend you?”  

“No. Not at all. I’m . . . not from around here. All of this is a new to me.”

“You are from Kebos. Adept of the temple of Sekhmet, the lioness, protector of the crown. You are bound to Priestess Khalimat, here on request from the king.”

It all sounded wrong. “How do you know that?”

“Everyone knows that.” The girl wrung her hands. “We really must go, my lady.”

“I’m not moving another step until you tell me your name. And stop addressing me as _my lady_. It’s dreadful.” She smiled, hoping not to scare the girl. She could never tell when her smile grew too wolfish. Too _Hudar_.

Going a little pale, the girl licked her lips. “My name is Melissah, my la—” she finished with a helpless gesture. Her light blue eyes were silent, but inquisitive.

“A lovely name.” It was, wasn’t it? A proper Norrian title, like the one given to her by the priestess. “My name is Raven,” she said softly, unexpectedly, the word sounding odd from her own lips.

Melissa’s expression brightened. “The companion of Odin. First pledged to Sekhmet, now named after the watchful eyes of The All Father of the north—no wonder you’re called prophet!”

Raven looked to the window, like always, feeling terribly alone in this foreign land. “We should go, shouldn’t we?”

Melissah lead the way down the expansive halls of the palace. They passed a trio of guards jeering in the corner, growing silent as they neared. Raven sent them a cool glance, studying their uniforms, their weapons and armor. The metal seemed thinner than the kind worn by the last soldiers she’d seen. Altered. Advanced. What would spur that change? Melissah just hurried on, gesturing to keep up.

They turned the corner, crossing paths with a majestic woman. The servant girl jumped like a scared little bird. Her brow nearly touched the floor in her curtsy.

“Your grace! We didn’t—my apologies, I did not see you!” she said. “Please, excuse us.”

Raven just stood there blocking the way, staring at a fascinating pair of fuchsia eyes. The woman stood taller than herself and nearly her opposite. Golden hair fell to just her shoulders, pinned back in place, accentuating a beautiful, lightly tanned face and those striking, almond shaped eyes. Cat-like. Sharp, sly and intelligent.

A swirl of excitement shot through Raven. She’d never seen another soul with eyes as strange as her own. Yet here stood a Norrian woman, adorned with a silver headdress, robed as elegantly as imaginable, staring right back at her with a similar look of shock and wonder.

“No apology necessary,” the woman said, studying Raven. “And who might you be, charming dark traveler?”

Raven blinked, at an unexpected loss for words.

“Your grace,” Melissah said. “This is the prophet from the south, here to aid the king.”

The woman’s smile grew. “I’m sure the prophet can speak.” Her low tone neither threatened nor mocked. It sounded like an invitation. “Unless, of course, the cat stole her tongue.”  

Raven flashed her teeth, catching herself just short of snarling. Taking the hint from the wide eyes of the servant girl, she took a step backwards, giving the sovereign some space.

“Your grace.” She bowed faintly, never dropping her gaze. “Excuse my rudeness. I’m but a barbaric cull from the south.”

“The west, you mean.” The woman gestured for her to straighten. “And you look like no cull to me.”

This was definitely the queen—what was her name? She couldn’t remember.

“Dominick tells me he hopes you can help with charting maps of the wilds. I do hope he’s letting you rest before this ridiculous charade.”

Maps? The king wanted to chart the lands of Hudar? She hadn’t been there in twenty years. “Yes.” Raven added, “your grace.”

Something eager hovered at the edges of the queen’s smile. Those pretty fuchsia eyes ran over her again, cataloging. “Well. I’ll leave you to it. Will I see you at dinner, shy, nameless prophet?”

Raven’s cheeks warmed. She nodded once and watched the queen glide down the hall until she disappeared around the far corner. She could have handled that better. The first person to set her heart racing and she gawked like a wide-eyed rabbit, unable to speak give her own name. Utterly embarrassing.

“I think you’re going to give me an ulcer.” Melissah brushed non-existent wrinkles from her skirt. “That was the queen, you do know that, yes?”

“Yes—what is her name?”

“Queen Alyssa Norxis, wife of Dominick Kenos, sovereigns of Norr—and you will be wise to address her as _your grace_ ,” she warned. “Now please, we must go. I fear who else we might run into.”

**O.O.O.O.O**

The ridiculous charade, as the fine queen had put it, turned into a prolonged affair.

Once required to use her gifts, to part the veil and see across time, Raven obliged. There was little choice in the matter, and the request seemed harmless enough. The king expressed interest in her culture, interest in reaching out to Daskis to form an amiable pact. Norr was known to be a peaceful nation, and had been for centuries. She had no reason to believe King Kenos was doing anything other than what he said.

Raven predicted the very day Daskis would lead the hoard north, through the narrow mountain passes. Banking on her alleged skill, the king grew eager with this new information. If Kenos couldn’t defeat the _za’hava_ wraiths, he would slay the man with the wolf-skull helm and fire-breathing horse. The Hudar were nomadic. Without a strong leader, they would be helpless against the Norrian force.

Assembling a team of well-trained northern soldiers, Kenos gave them modest directions. Scale the mountains. Locate the correct pass. Wait for Daskis to approach. Kill him and scatter his hoard. Nothing more, nothing less. With the day set nearly three months in the future, Kenos sent word to the temple of Sekhmet. The prophet was to remain under his care through winter, into the following spring. Brother Favir was relieved of his duties and sent back to the desert.

And the king’s magnificently simple plan worked. Just as Raven had predicted, on the third day of November, Daskis led his people through the narrow Yvelt pass on the Targantis mountain range. And there an army of two-thousand Norrians waited for him.

It wasn’t until some weeks later that the soldiers returned from their journey, bearing the sword and great wolf-skull helm of the feared Daskis of Hudar. King Kenos had defeated the barbarian warlord. The path to the west, to the base of the great Spire Mountain was now free for the taking.

And Raven had been the tool with which he conquered the wilds.

**O.O.O.O.O**

The victory celebration grew louder as the throne room neared. Raven prowled the halls, eager to get this audience over with. Overwhelming guilt soured her gut, burned in her veins. Everywhere, people danced, drank, frolicked in a whirlwind of colors and bright, smiling faces. Raven parted them like a silent wraith, neutral expression plastered on with sheer, trembling willpower. She was the king’s prophet. His pet witch. A domesticated jackal-child allowed to walk amongst the civilized world. After helping with this victory, the jubilant Norrians believed they had nothing to fear from her. The sight of her drab, depressing presence was brushed aside, something expected and unimposing, like a shadow in the late evening.

“Prophet!” someone shouted. “You bring glory to Norr!”

“Look! It’s the witch.”

“Shh—she can hear you. She might curse your foolish face off, idiot.”

Raven stewed in her dark robes, gnawing her tongue, nails digging flesh from her own palms as she obediently went to the king. The two thrones at the far end of the great room made her dizzy with rage. On the wall above the king’s chair hung the wolf-skull helm, and beneath it, Daskis’ well-seasoned scimitar. A trophy. A mocking reminder of her ignorant betrayal of her very heritage.

And there, lounging on his throne, glowing with too much drink, sat Dominick Kenos. His short blonde hair, those sky blue eyes and handsome, confident face. Every single trait a glaring ridicule of her very existence in his kingdom. Upon spotting her approach, Kenos straightened in his chair.

“My lovely dark prophet!” Gesturing with a raised glass, he shouted across the hall. “Come, quickly! I must tell you something.”

Keeping the same pace, Raven came to a silent halt at the foot of the stairs leading to the thrones. “Your graces,” she said, glancing to the frowning queen seated beside Kenos.

“Dearest Raven.” Kenos set down his glass and peaked his large hands before his lips. “I want to extend my deepest appreciation for your assistance in this endeavor.” He stifled a hiccup. “I’ve sent word to your priestess and she agrees. Your appointments in the palace will be moved to the northern tower. They’re larger, befit for my prophet. You’ll like them. You can see the great Spire from your window!”

The queen twisted in her chair and stared at her husband.

_How wonderful_. Raven swallowed the quivering desire to rip out his throat with her bare hands. “As you wish, your grace.” She nodded once, so very slowly, willing her voice not to tighten. _Do not betray his trust so soon. Do not let them see you suffer._

Smiling, Kenos hefted his glass high, waving to the wolf-skull helm displayed above for all to see. “Isn’t it impressive? A true warrior’s trinket, befit to grace my halls. I’m sure you’ve seen many like this, but never worn so proudly, eh?” He leaned forward, whispering so loudly the dead could hear. “Tell me, use your gifts. What are the wretched Hudar doing as we speak?”

Queen Norxis slammed her fist on the arm of her chair. “Will you not allow her an ounce of pride!” she roared.

The crowd quieted, all eyes turning to the thrones.

Kenos balked at the outburst and recovered with a graceful wave of his hand. “Of course, of course. You’re dismissed, prophet. Do as you please tonight. Go on.”

Raven left the hall without another word; another glance; another breath.

It was a long, throbbing walk on her very last nerve. There was scarce room left to contain her anger. She would either erupt or die, and neither was favorable at the present. Shaking, she strode through the halls, hood pulled low over her eyes, worn sandals quiet on the stone floors.

She’d almost made it to her humble quarters when footsteps caught her ear, coming from behind. Turning with the subdued, resented grace of someone forced into the lesser class, Raven waited for the figure to turn the corner, praying that it wasn’t someone here to bother her. She couldn’t bear one more congratulatory exclamation from the goddamned _Norrians_.

Queen Alyssa Norxis approached. She sent a searching glance in both directions, opened the door to Raven’s room and slipped inside.

Heart thundering, Raven followed and bolted the door behind them. Warm hands grasped her face, forced her to meet the queen’s gaze.

“I’m sorry,” Alyssa whispered. “So sorry. He’s vile— _I could kill him_.”

At least she had someone on her side in this terrible place. Savagery was an appealing trait, and the queen had plenty to share.

“You cannot kill him,” Raven said. “Someone even more appalling would take his place, and then I’d be cast back to the chains of my desert hell. Would you dare follow me there for your _conversations_ , your grace?”

Alyssa pressed her into the closed door and kissed her. Fiercely. “I’ve told you not to call me that. Especially here.”

“But, your grace—what would the good citizens think if they heard the barbarian witch addressing their queen in such a casual manner?”

Alyssa removed the heap of scarves from Raven’s shoulders, then set her lips toying with the expanse of neck now exposed. “What would they say if they heard I’d bedded the barbarian witch every night since her appearance in Olisgard?”

Raven made a low sound, allowing the woman to push the robes from her shoulders. “I believe they would kill me. Regardless of the circumstances, it would be my fault. You see, I’ve bewitched you.”

“Truly, I think it’s the other way around—”

Raven shoved Alyssa onto the simple bed. “You have.” She slid on top of her, being sure her lips hovered just out of reach. “You put a claim on me the moment our eyes met. My people call it _sira kavi_. It does not translate to your tongue very well, but it’s something like _the exchange without words_.”

“That sounds accurate.” Alyssa twined her fingers through Raven’s hair and clutched tightly. “Now claim what’s yours, charming dark traveler.”

With deft fingers, she peeled away Alyssa’s beautiful gown and cast it to the floor. The warmth of their bodies now touching, Raven kissed her deeply, trying to fill the ache in her soul. She knew this to be love, however foolish. An unexpected, welcomed gift in a sea of despair. She clung to it, to Alyssa, praying each night their secret affair would go undiscovered. For sparse moments at a time, always in this woman’s company, Raven felt like a person again. There may be no future for them as a pair. This may end terribly. She knew; Alyssa knew. They didn’t care.

And like so many nights before, the two of them moved together in a stream of moonlight, a mingled wave of gold and black, making every last moment last.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Alyssa’s most cherished times were these; lying still and quiet, wrapped around the warm, content Raven. Normally, she would dress and take her leave before the sun broke the horizon, returning to the bed she shared with Kenos; the man she’d grown to loath. But tonight, with pain still too fresh, Alyssa didn’t leave Raven’s side. The fearless Hudar witch was but a purring kitten now, dark locks splayed across her shoulders as she slept. Alyssa traced the deep scars across Raven’s back, the remnants of a disobedient childhood under the care of the Sekhmet Priestess. Beaten, whipped, starved—forced into complacency.

Fresh tears pricked Alyssa’s eyes. She grieved deeply for this woman, every moment of her life forever changed when she was taken from her rightful home, transplanted into the chains of servitude. Even now, she was trapped, not free to choose her own path. It was folly to think there was something Alyssa could do to change this, but she did so anyway.

For weeks she’d plotted for a way to free the Prophet from the temple. Royal decree only went so far. No one, not even Kenos dared to go against the gods. Priests and priestess’ were the embodiment of those deities here, and Khalimat had a tight claim on Alyssa’s clandestine lover. Eventually she would grow tired of the king’s demands and revoke his agreement, bidding the prophet back to the temple. It pained her to think of never seeing Raven again. It pained her to get up each morning, not having her at her side. Everything about the situation pained her—and yet, just one look from those violet eyes soothed away her troubles.

With the soft light of dawn seeping through the window, Raven stirred. She jerked upright and nearly fell out of bed.

“Alyssa, its morning! Holy mother of Set, someone will surely see you leave now!”

Unperturbed, Alyssa grabbed a handful of ebony hair and tugged the worried woman into a kiss. Raven was truly breathtaking. Seeing her freshly awake and hair disheveled—more so than usual—was blissfully heartwarming. “Then perhaps I shouldn’t leave.”

“You will be the death of me. Is that what you want?”

“Hardly. But as long as you’re mine, I will take advantage of every waking second.”              

Flashing a slow, lazy smile, Raven peered at her through half-lidded eyes. “As you wish, _your grace_.”

“Brat. I will throw you out this window.”

“Then I shall learn to fly, because I will never cease to mock you, Queen Alyssa Norxis, wife of King Dominick Kenos, sovereigns of Norr.”

“Oh, it’s an outrageous title,” she groaned, rolling to her feet. “Do not remind me of my marriage to that exasperating man. You, of all people, should never want to see him, let along speak his name.”

“My wants are inconsequential. I’m his lovely dark prophet, after all. Here to do his bidding.”

“Ha!” She stepped into her gown and pulled the material up over her hips. “He does not know the depths of your hatred for him. If ever given the chance, you would kill him. And I would love you more because of it. What a terrible thing to think. Isn’t it terrible?”

“It’s a wonderful thing if you are Hudar,” Raven said. “Which I am, your grace.”

“Indeed, you are, prophet,” she replied, easing back into their practiced roles. Straightening, Alyssa motioned for Raven to button up the back of her dress. She obliged, planting a few soft kisses on her neck as she did. Looking presentable again, Alyssa retrieved the dark, tattered robes from the floor and set them on the bed beside Raven. “I do wish you’d let me give you nicer clothes.”

Raven slung on her traditional Hudar garb. “I’m lucky to have procured them at all. You Norrians seem to find the attire distasteful. But if you were out west, you wouldn’t give it a second thought.” Wrapping the scarves around her neck, she tucked them in, adjusting and settling the fabric, then slipped into her sandals. “Besides, in my land, the more tattered the clothes, the more respected the _za’hava_.”

Alyssa paused, turning from where she listened at the door. “Are you suggesting you’re _za’hava_?”

Raven quirked a thin brow and pulled up the hood of her robes. “I suggest nothing. You’re the enemy, after all.”

Alyssa walked up to her, tipped the hood back and cupped her pale face in her hands. “I do hope that’s not what you really think of me.”

“No,” Raven said. “You give me something to live for.”

Oh, how she could just melt at those words . . . The queen of Norr did not melt. She was a shrewd, ambitious ruler, partaking in an innocent, whimsical love affair. She was being foolish, but gods be damned, she didn’t care. Alyssa kissed Raven one last time, deeply, passionately, and took her leave.

Neither queen nor prophet saw the stone-faced priest shadowed in the recesses of an alcove, watching their brief appearance together at the Hudar’s door. 


	2. Chapter 2

It was several days before Brother Favir had arrived at the palace of Olisgard, following the news of Norr's victory in the west. The prophet, it seemed, had delivered the pertinent information, assuring Kenos' plan of slaying the Hudar leader. Having spent seven years watching over Raven, this revelation seemed odd. He wasn't convinced of her domestication—no man with an ounce of intelligence would think you could take the wild out of a Hudar, or break an exiled soul of their yearning for home. Raven was neither broken nor tame. Was this all a trick, some complicated ploy to seek revenge? With Daskis dead and the Hudar scattered to the wind, it was hard to say. Favir was mistrustful of the witch ever since he’d first laid eyes on her.

  **O.O.O.O.O**

Favir handed off his horse to a stable boy and took in the temple of Sekhmet, an enormous granite structure in Kebos, powerhouse of the southern province of Norr. He could scarcely contain his excitement as he hurried up the front steps, into the cool shade.

Sandalwood and jasmine laced the air, strong and pleasant. Braziers lit the space, casting a welcoming glow across gleaming white floors. Adepts roamed the halls in quiet service, polishing statues, tending to citizens here for blessing and guidance.

“Brother Favir, welcome.” A young priest, dressed in pale green robes, greeted from an arching stone doorway. “Priestess Khalimat is expecting you.”

“Thank you, Brother.” Favir brushed out his own blue robes, wiped the sweat from his face and took a few deep breaths. The people of the temples designated rank by color. Green was above blue. How had this lad already attained such rank at his age?

Favir followed the priest, trying to calm his thundering heart. Meeting the high priestess was reason enough for excitement, but also being inducted into the temple as a priest? Who knew what opportunities awaited? This, truly, was an opportunity of a lifetime.

The hall poured into a large, circular room lined with marble pillars. In the center, thrice as tall as any man, stood a statue carved of basalt. Sekhmet, the lion-headed goddess of war. And to the left, relaxing on a short, wooden couch, sat the second most powerful woman in Norr.

Khalimat had flawless mahogany skin despite being past half a century in age. Gold bands adorned long black hair, and smudged kohl lined eyes the color of freshly turned earth. Dressed in a simple white robe and barefoot, she held herself with an air of casual authority; a lioness lounging in the sun.

“Well met, brother,” she said.

Favir approached, bowing low. “Priestess, it is an honor.”

“No need for such ceremony.” She smiled, and he shivered. “I do hope your journey was pleasant. The Gentle Desert is a deceiving name in the dead of summer. You’re still used to Olisgard’s climate, I’m sure.”

“It’s a bit warm.” Stifling was more accurate. They didn’t call this place hell without reason. “Nothing I can’t adjust to.”

“You must be parched. Would you care for a drink?”

“Yes, my lady. I would, thank you.”

Khalimat glanced over her shoulder, speaking quietly to someone he couldn’t see. She gestured to the chair opposite her. “Sit. Tell me news from the great city. What is our good king up to?”

Favir eased into the soft cushions and folded his hands on his lap. “King Kenos is planning an excursion.”

“I’ve noticed the soldiers at the citadel multiplying. Scurrying about like ants. What kind of excursion?”

“Precious metals, my lady. Scouts have reported sightings of silver and copper at the base of the Spire. Also obsidian. He means to mine it.”

Khalimat tilted her head, gaze sharpening. “The Spire is in Hudar.”

He snorted. “Barbarians don’t have any need for silver. They’re goat herders. They wouldn’t know something precious if it jumped up and bit off their arm.”

The priestess shifted position, less casual, more assertive. “And what of Daskis, leader of the hoard? Has Kenos struck a bargain for traipsing across their land and stealing what’s theirs?”

“No, my lady. Differences of opinions, I’m afraid. Word around the palace is that Kenos is looking to expand Norr’s borders.”

Khalimat sighed. “Such is the trouble with young kings. Always hoping to outdo their fathers.”

A young woman appeared beside them with a silver tray in her hands. Favir jumped in his seat.

“Great stars! Where did you come from? You gave me a fright.”

She set the tray of glasses and wine on the low wooden table between them, and moved to stand beside Khalimat without a word.

Favir narrowed his eyes. Who did this girl think she was to deny him the common courtesy of a response? She appeared normal enough. A little tall for a woman, and definitely too thin and wiry to be of noble breeding. Her black hair styled in a neat braid matched the rest of the temple attire, but her skin was pale. Too pale for the desert. The tan robes she wore seemed a tad large on her frame, and denoted her as a bondservant. She reminded him of something, but he couldn’t place it.

“Girl,” he said. “A superior addressed you.”

Her dark gaze locked with his, cold and unrepentant.

Favir ground his teeth. “My lady, does your adept not speak a civilized tongue?”

“Her adept does not,” the girl replied, mimicking his tone.

Khalimat made a low sound and flicked her fingers. With a scowl, the girl returned to the table and poured two glasses of red wine from the decanter on the tray.

He picked up his glass, draining half in a quick swallow. “This girl needs some work.”

“Precisely,” the priestess said. “This is Raven.”

“A northern name.” It would explain her height. She nearly stood as tall as he did. Her black hair didn’t match, however. The Norrians of the north were flaxen-haired and blue-eyed. She must be a mutt. Some trollip’s unwanted child.

Khalimat picked up her glass. “It’s the name I gave her. She’s never told me her real name.”

“A runaway, then? No wonder she has no manners. How long has she been with you?”

“Ten years now.”

Favir kept his expression neutral. The girl had been with the Lioness for a decade and still hadn’t learned how to behave? He’d never question Khalimat’s skills. The girl must be a terror.

As if sensing his train of thought, the priestess smiled. “She is Hudar.”

He choked on his wine. “My—my lady? Surely you jest.”

“I never jest.”

Silence clutched him for an obscene pause. He saw it now, the hunger and violence lurking beneath the girl’s lithe frame. Raven watched him like a wolf pining over a newborn lamb.

“Priestess, I don’t understand. You allowed a barbarian into your sacred temple? She’s probably a witch. You know how unstable they are—look at her! She’s practically seething!”

“Watch your tone, priest,” Khalimat warned. “I did not summon you here for your opinion.”

“Forgive me.” He relented, hands spread wide. “I forgot my place.” No sense worrying about one runt of a girl. She wasn’t his problem. “What will you have of me, priestess?”

Khalimat pointed to Raven. “You are her newly appointed guardian.”

All warmth drained from him, pooling somewhere below his knees. His glorious assignment was to watch a Hudar girl? How embarrassing—how degrading! He’d left his comfortable quarters in Olisgard and rode a week through the scalding desert shit hole for this?

Swallowing back his outrage, he let out a slow breath. “ _New_ guardian, my lady?”

“The old one didn’t last. It seems my aspiring apprentice didn’t care for his attitude.” Khalimat cut her eyes to the girl. “Raven, if you kill this one, I’m throwing you back in the cellar.”

A flicker of apprehension shot through the girl. She rubbed the silver bands at her wrists and looked away. “Yes, Priestess.”

The Hudar killed her last guardian. _What luck._ Favir gazed at the statue towering over them. _Sweet Sekhmet, what did I do to deserve this?_

“If that is how you wish me to serve, my lady, it would be an honor.” He forced out the words.

“Don’t let her out of your sight, Favir. You lose her, I’ll kill you. Understand?”

Nervous now, he bobbed his head and eyed his new charge. What sort of monster was she? He studied the bands of silver around both her wrists, gradually recognizing them for what they were. Charmed. His dread only deepened.

“My lady, if I may ask, what am I to do with this witc—ah, girl?”

Khalimat put a firm hand on Raven's shoulder, ignoring the way she squirmed in place. “Teach her the ways of the central province. I’m too long in the desert, and civil and political matters are not of my interest.” Giving Raven a good shake, she waited until the young woman looked at her. "You will behave, yes? Show me you can,” her gaze dropped to the silver bands. "And I will give you another chance."

Raven seemed to consider those words. She glanced to Favir. “And you will allow me my robes?"

Favir perked up at that. All who served in the temples strove for white. The utmost level of respect and power. Only those deemed worthy enough to truly convene with the gods were allowed them. But this girl? There was no way in seven hells she was worthy of anything. Not even the crisp tan she wore now.

"We will see, child," the priestess replied, tenderly touching Raven's cheek. "Go now, and may Sekhmet grant you strength to survive one another’s company.”

**O.O.O.O.O**

Raven was Favir's absolute worst nightmare. Two years it took before her silver bands were struck. It was another three before Khalimat allowed her to wear her robes. Which, to Favir's horror, were not white. They weren't even Norrian. They were _black_. Layers of tattered, fraying robes, several scarves and an odd pair of sandals.

Truly, he was the guardian of a Hudar witch. It galled him to the point of sleeplessness, heartburn, loathing. He hated Raven. She was a terribly cruel test of his will, and on more than one occasion he contemplated resigning. No position, no matter where in the kingdom, was worth the hell Raven put him through. They tormented, picked, poked, harassed one another to the point of madness. All the while, Raven grew more collected, calculating, and the most terrifying of all—civilized.

She was playing a game. But what, he couldn't guess. When the king requested Raven to stay at the palace for three months, he feared Khalimat would be furious. Blessedly, she wasn't, and he nearly cried with joy for the reprieve. Finally, a moment without worry! No clever woman watching his every move, critiquing his every task, embarrassing him at the market by wearing those horrid black rags. And his reward for seven years of hell? Khalimat granted him his white robes.

But now the king requested further use of the witch, and Khalimat had sent him back to the palace to keep an eye on things. Yes, Raven could stay, but not alone. Favir was to send reports back to the desert, cataloging the expanse of the king’s use of the prophet. Certainly a far more dignified task, and he was quite boastful of his new white robes. He wanted everyone to see, especially Raven. He wanted to rub it in her face. She would never be like him—she wasn't better than he was, and he would prove it.

Arriving early in the morning, Favir reported to the king’s guard. Raven, it seemed, was quartered on the western side of the palace, and with direction, he headed that way. He hoped to catch her sleeping, hoped to surprise her as unpleasantly as possible.

 _Wake up, witch. Not only have you betrayed your own people, you're going to continue to do so until Khalimat drags you back to where you belong!_ He turned the corner just as the sound of a door opening broke the silence. The priest ducked into a dark alcove and peered down the hall.

The queen of Norr strode from the room, hair left down and un-styled, eyes half-lidded with something other than sleep. And then, appearing in the same doorway, the Hudar witch. Cloaked in black, looking just as guilty of pleasure.

Breath held, Favir remained hidden as the queen walked by, waiting until her footsteps faded. Raven shut her door and walked the opposite way, pace slow and leisurely.

 _Oh, sweet gods, you do exist!_ That blasphemous barbarian, that whore! Bedding the king's wife right under his nose? And no guards in sight to escort her? Kenos was a fool to let her wander his palace unsupervised. Grinning, Favir strode after Raven. This would work in his favor.

**O.O.O.O.O**

With a content sigh, Raven sauntered down the halls, enjoying this calm moment for as long as possible. It grew terribly hard to find any reason to smile these days, and any suggestion of bliss, however transient, soothed her weary soul. Stretching her neck, a wry little smirk found its way to her lips. Her muscles were sore, a telltale sign that however formal and frigid the queen may appear, Alyssa was wonderfully attentive in a private setting. Even a bit wild.

 _More than a bit_. Raven forced the smile away and pushed open the doors to the kitchen. She detested eating with the rest of the palace guests, having to endure the meticulous etiquette, the tedious courses, the incessant drivel. They didn't want the Hudar at the table, and she certainly didn't want to be there. An unspoken settlement was reached: she ate in the kitchens with the servants and staff, out of sight and mind.

And with all the guest from the celebration to feed, the kitchen had already begun it’s frantic daily routine. Countless servants scurried about, cooking and preparing for the meal.

"Oy, what’re you doing back here, eh?" One older cook squawked, waving a wooden spoon. “I told you, the graces want you out at the table with them."

"But, my lady Hannah, I missed dinner last night, and your food smells simply divine."

“You little brat.” Smiling now, the cook gestured to the eggs and pork sizzling on her griddle. "Be quick about it. And save some for the rest of the guests, eh? I've never seen a woman eat as much as you."

"It comes from never knowing when my next meal would be, my lady. Thank you.” Raven filled her plate and fidgeted by the back door. "May I eat in your garden?"

With a slow sigh, the cook crossed her arms. "You really don't like them, do you?"

"It's never pleasant to surround yourself with people that would rather see you gone."

Hannah patted Raven's hand. "Eat where ever you like, dearie. I won't tell anyone."

“You are a gem.” Raven slipped out the back door into the small, well-planted garden. Protected on all sides by a tall stone wall, it offered a glimpse of blue-grey sky. She eyed the dozing guard at the far gate before finding a quiet spot beneath the single oak tree in the center. Sunlight trickled through the branches, warm where it touched her cheek, but a cold November breeze blew in the promise of winter.

She hadn't seen snow in twenty years. If the king required her much longer, maybe she'd see some again. A vulnerable, idle thought suggested it might be nice to take a walk in the snow with Alyssa. Childishly toss the white fluff at her; laugh at the surly look she'd undoubtedly receive. It seemed harmless enough to dream under the morning sun, despite the bleakness of her life. Yes, it would be nice to do anything with Alyssa, anything at all. Content for a moment, she ate her meal and watched the sky.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Alyssa wasn't surprised to find their bed empty and undisturbed from the previous night. There were certain benefits to being the king, after all. There wasn't any bed in his palace—kingdom even, where he wasn't welcome. She didn't care. If anything, it was a relief not to see him. Last night’s irksome lack of grace still set her loathing for him burning like a slow fire.

Dressed and made presentable once again, she went in search of Melissah. She found the young woman where she usually lingered, hovering on the outskirts of the courtyard, watching the boys sword fighting.

Alyssa tapped her on the shoulder.

Melissah yelped and whirled around. “Your grace, you scared me!”

She glanced over the smaller woman's head. "Which young lad are you watching today?"

Blushing, Melissah raked her fingers through her hair, eyes on the ground. "Ah, Jarek, your grace. The one in the blue."

"The brunette. He’s an attractive prospect, isn't he? Oh, and quite the athlete as well."

Melissah stepped back into the hall and gave a graceful curtsy. "What may I do for you this morning?"

Alyssa studied the young woman. “I’ve a task in mind, of the utmost importance. Can I trust you to speak of it to no one?”

Growing just as serious as her superior, Melissah nodded. “Absolutely, your grace.”

She pulled her aside and placed a small coin purse in her hand. “Go to the market. Find Santiago Sucocci, the fence. Give him this, and he will give you something in return. Bring it to me and no one else. Understood?”

"Yes, I understand. When do you need this done?”

"You’ve eaten already, yes? Go now. Discreetly. Take my horse. I've already informed the guards you will be running an errand for me. They won't bother you." Alyssa touched her cheek. "I will owe you a favor for this."

Melissah grinned. "Your grace, that's a dangerous thing. I've expensive tastes."

“Off with you, now.” She watched the young woman disappear down the hall, an odd feeling settling in her stomach. Normally she would never send someone into the market to retrieve something from Sucocci—least of all, Melissah. But with Olisgard swarming with citizens from all corners of Norr, it would be too trying a task to slip into the masses unnoticed. No matter what disguise she wore, her eyes always gave her away.

"There you are.” Arms slipped around her waist from behind, pulling her back against a warm, solid chest. Kenos kissed her cheek. "Good morning, my queen."

Refraining from twitching, she turned in his arms and placed a chaste kiss on his lips. Her smile felt bland at best, and she cursed her own slip in composure. "My king."

He took a step back, searching her expression. "What's wrong?"

“I had a bad dream last night. Tossed and turned, is all.” She offered him her arm, and he took it, leading them to the dining room.

“About last night." Kenos frowned. “I . . . I drank a bit too much.”

“You were entitled to your celebration, Dominick. It's not like you're a drunkard.” But wouldn’t that be a lovely addition?

“I could have handled that better.” He made a vague gesture. “Concerning the prophet. It was classless to mock her people in front of her.”

She glanced at her husband, mistrustful of this declaration. He was after something, something from her. “It was uncouth and embarrassing. Norr is not a land of uncivilized bastards. We're better than that.”

He rubbed the back of his neck and slowed to a stop near the great hall. "Yes, yes. You're right, as usual. What would I ever do without you at my side?"

“I suspect you'd look like an unkempt brute without any class.” She fixed the collar of his shirt. "You killed the barbarian king with,” she hesitated, “cleverness. And tact. There's no reason to gloat.”

Sighing comically, he put a hand to his heart. “Will you ever forgive me?”

“You know I never forgive.”

“Which is why I just went ahead and got you a gift. A white stallion, seventeen hands. He's a northern bred stud, very handsome. You'll love him.”

A moment of surprise made her heart jump. She loved horses. It was sly of him, though not enough to relent her silent disdain.

She slapped him on the arm. “You cannot buy me things every time you do something stupid!”

“Of course I can. It may not help, but it does make you smile. I can't have the ruler of Norr unhappy.” He held the door to the great hall. “After you, my queen.”

She stared through the open doorway, to her spot at the table. She was unhappy. Maybe she didn't have the right to feel such things. Born into a high-class family that had both status and wealth, and betrothed to one in the same, of royal blood. When Dominick’s father passed and he became king, they married. For six years she’d reigned as queen of a profitable, peaceful nation. And she had absolutely no desire to sit there at that table faking earnestness, knowing Raven ate alone elsewhere. Alone in her grief and self-loathing.

She looked away. “I don't have much of an appetite, Dominick. I'm going to take a walk, I think.”

“Are you not well? I will call the physician.”

“No, no.” She touched his hand. “I just need some fresh air.”

**O.O.O.O.O**

Favir pushed open the swinging doors of the kitchen. A bustle of activity filled the room, distracting and too congested. One servant lad skidded to a stop before him, peering over an armful of potatoes.

“Sir, the guests will be served in the great hall.”

“Never mind that. I'm a Priest of Sekhmet's temple. Have you seen the king's prophet? I have business with her.”

The boy seemed to perk up at that. “You mean the lady Raven?”

When did she earn that title? “Yes, I mean _the lady_ Raven,” he mocked "Where might I find her?"

“In the gardens," he jerked his head towards a thick set of wooden exterior doors, "through there."

Shoving past the boy, Favir strode towards the doors, shuffling through the flow of kitchen staff.

“Priest, you're not supposed to be back here!” Hannah yelled, rattling a pot across the room. “Get out of my kitchen!”

Did none of these ingrates have an iota of respect for a head priest of Norr? The absolute nerve of these urchins. Ignoring the cook, he shoved open the doors, blinking in the abrupt brightness of the gardens.

Across the space, Raven looked over to him. Eating in the dirt. Not even peasants did that. They at least had the decency to sit at a table, even if they didn't wash their hands. Straightening his robes, Favir strolled across the grounds.

**O.O.O.O.O**

_Gods be dammned, I thought I’d been rid of that man_. Raven finished chewing as Favir strutted towards her. “My, my. You look a bit ridiculous in white. Tell me, are your knees sore from kneeling between all the legs in Norr?”

“You're in no position to mock me.” He rocked to a halt before her, hands clasped behind his back, practiced smile in place. “I heard you gave over Daskis. Well done. Such a good little traitor you've made.”

"What do you want?"

“I'm here on Khalimat's bidding. It seems you're not as supervised as she thinks necessary.”

Her gaze shifted to the sole guard in audience, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, head canted forward in sleep. His presence was pure coincidence and just as annoying. The king’s guard truly were everywhere, even if they were occasionally asleep on the job.

“You'll have to take it up with the king. He lets me wander where I may within the walls.”

"Oh, don't fret, Hudar. I will be sure to let him know exactly what's going on in his residence.” He peered down his nose at her. "Right behind his back."

A sinking feeling made the food bland and tasteless now. Something lurked in his pale blue eyes, a confident tenacity that set her skin crawling. She stood and strode past him.

He caught her wrist and jerked her close. “Filthy, wretched witch. You have no place warming anyone's bed. I'll see you back in silver for this. And when Kenos bores of your skills, Khalimat will be waiting for you.”

There was a moment, three heartbeats long, where Raven did nothing but stare.

Countless thoughts flashed through her mind, guessing the depths of his knowledge, the extent of what he saw. Because he had seen something; enough to ruin everything, and there was nothing more precious than protecting what little joy she had. He would hold this over her; use this knowledge to make her submit to his will. She would rather die than return to the desert, least of all while this priest blackmailed her into obedience. Only one option remained, however daunting, however tempting and brash.

Favir left her no choice.

She lashed out, fingers coated in a black glow, and crushed the priest's throat in her grip. Before he could squawk, she nailed him in the chest with her other fist. Favir tumbled backwards and hit the dirt.

The guard jerked awake at the commotion. “What the—? Prophet? I command you to yield!” The sound of metal ringing free from a sheath set everything in motion.

She turned towards the guard, arms wide, head lowered, gaze locked on the approaching threat. Her mind cleared, snapping to a dreadfully quiet place. Time slowed as she counted down his steps, timing the strike with seamless perfection. With a whispered invocation, she brought her left hand forward, slicing the air.

The motion tore a sound from nowhere, a high-frequency pulse that struck the guard three paces away. Without a gasp, without a drop of gore, he crumpled dead at her feet.

Dropping to her knee, she jerked guard's belt free and secured it around her own waist, along with his sword. She stood and focused on Favir.

“Wait.” He crabbed backwards across the grass, face red and eyes watering.

“Where are you going, priest?” She stomped her foot into his chest, pinning him to the ground.

“No!” he screeched.

She pressed the tip of the sword into his throat. “Khalimat set you to be my guardian as a test of my patience. Not as a means to prove your worth, not as a trial of your will—but mine. I endured you for seven years and I will not tolerate another breath as your victim.”

“All right—I won’t tell Kenos! I won’t, I swear to Sekhmet herself,” he wheezed.

“Of course you won’t. The dead don’t speak.”

“Don’t be a fool, Raven. You murdered a royal guard! I’m your only hope of survival now. Kenos will want you killed—but I can save you. I can save you!”

Even now, at her mercy, his arrogance knew no bounds. She had imagined this moment for years, and now that it had arrived, the pleasure turned bittersweet. Killing this man meant losing Alyssa, and she hadn’t prepared for the anguish. She hadn’t even said goodbye.

“Raven, please. The gods grant mercy to those in favor. I can help you. We’ll return to the desert. Khalimat will forgive you in time, she always does. You’re too precious to waste.”

She almost laughed. “Precious? Who would’ve thought those words would ever leave your lips, least of all as your last. I do hope all the years of diligence to the gods pays off, priest.”

His eyes went wide. “No—”

With one jab, the sword pierced his throat and ran straight through to the ground. Favir choked, eyes wide, and died under the pale grey sky. And with his last strangled breath, her blissful morning came to an end.

She wiped the sword clean on his crisp robes. Instincts long suppressed took over, prioritizing, planning. She checked his pockets, taking his elaborate dagger, a small purse of coins, and paused when her fingertips brushed a piece of paper. A letter from priestess Khalimat to the king, seal unbroken. Popping the wax, she scanned the note.

— _The gods have spoken clearly, good king. Your use of the prophet’s gifts shall soon end. Be mindful of her placidity. Dark, still waters belay dangerous creatures in their depths. Brother Favir has the authority and means to rein her in should she step out of line_ —

She crumpled the note in her fist. The sound of the kitchen door opening jerked Raven to her feet.

A young female servant took two steps into the gardens and froze, empty basket falling to the ground. She screamed and darted back into the kitchen.

 _Damnit to all hell_. Raven charged to the other door and shouldered it open. With the layout of the palace running through her mind, she deftly navigated the passageways. News would spread quickly of her crimes. She needed to be outside the walls before word reached the king.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dressed in a warm coat, Alyssa circled the outdoor grounds in a distracted gloom. Guilt lay heavy on her shoulders. How long could she keep Raven here with her? Was it cruel to allow her this intimacy only to have it taken away at someone else's whim? Was she unkind for starting this whole secret affair to begin with?

At the thought of their first night together, a warm smile tugged at the corners of her lips. The prophet did show her face at dinner the night of her arrival, and remained a quiet, delicious temptation at the far end of the table. Afterwards, Alyssa had invited the stoic Hudar to one of her private rooms with the promise of fine wine and engaging conversation. Raven had politely refused, claiming it wasn't her place to be alone with the queen of Norr.

Politely refused, that is, until Alyssa walked up to the woman and kissed her. Raven didn't raise another word of protest. She responded with natural, addicting eagerness, a desperate touch, both tender and pleasurably rough. Such passion that woman had! Alyssa couldn't remember ever feeling so wonderful—so right with another soul. She wanted to stay with Raven forever. How foolish of her to fall in love with a Hudar woman that wasn't free to choose her own life, when she herself was chained to the throne, to Dominick Kenos.

Blinking her nostalgia away, Alyssa found herself outside the stables. Built of stone and well maintained, they housed well over fifty horses. Most of them belonged to visiting nobles and peerage, and the horses of the guard were kept in the adjacent connecting stable. As she made her way through the open door, the pleasant smell of hay greeted her.

She contently walked past the stalls, petting and cooing over each and every horse. One stall was empty, belonging to her favorite horse. Melissah had indeed left immediately for her task. Continuing down the row, she paused as an unfamiliar white horse stuck his head over the door of a stall.

"My stars, look at you! You’re massive.”

A gorgeous specimen, with strong legs, graceful back and powerful haunches. Long silver mane, smooth as silk in her fingers. Smile growing wry, Alyssa leaned on the door as the stallion sniffed and nuzzled her. Dominick’s impeccable taste in all things refined infuriated her at times. A gift of this magnitude meant the man truly was after something, though what, she couldn’t rightly say. Her heart? Progeny? Forgiveness? She’d grown too wary to ask.

“You're a handsome bloke, I'll admit.” She scratched beneath the stallion’s forelock. “What shall we call you?”

The clatter of hooves on stone broke the calm, sounding out through the closed doors of the soldier's stables. The jingle of metal and creak of leather. A horse let out an anxious call. Could that be Melissa already? She eased into the next section of stables. A bay gelding danced in place, tacked and tied in the walkway. She shifted down the aisle and placed a calming hand on the horse’s muzzle. Someone bumped and rummaged in the tack room. Someone in tattered black robes, with long ebony hair, pale skin and an armful of supplies.

Alyssa couldn’t help but smile. “Going somewhere, prophet?”

Raven whirled around, sword tip sailing towards her throat. She froze, heart stalling at the look of utter ruthlessness in those violet eyes.

Something transpired in that heartbeat; the two acknowledging one another. Alyssa, experiencing the terror of near death. Raven, stopping the blade from piercing flesh at the last possible moment. The Hudar let out a terrible sound and dropped her sword.

“Alyssa,” she said, voice pained, hands wide in compliance. “You startled me.”

“I startled _you?_ ” She tried to slow her racing heart. Took in the blood staining Raven's hands. The guard’s sword. The horse and pack of supplies spilled at her feet. “What happened?”

“Favir knew about us.” Raven frowned. “There was a guard as well.”

If one person knew . . . Fear sunk like a stone in her gut. Alyssa took a shaky step back, supporting herself on the horse’s side. Raven had killed the Sekhmet Priest, and now she aimed to flee Norr.

“And the stable hands? Did you kill them?”

“Of course not. They're locked in the feed room.” Raven sheathed the sword, gathered the supplies and secured them to the back of the saddle. “Alyssa, I can't stay here.”

Everything came crashing down in the following quiet, a massacre of glass and steel ringing in Alyssa’s head. It was happening right before her eyes. Even as the ruler of Norr, she could do nothing to stop it. The first occurrence of helplessness to ever strike her, and it was a horrendously awful feeling.

“I'm coming with you.” It took her a moment to realize those words had come from her.

“No, you're not.”

“I am.”

Raven let out a short, dry laugh. “Alyssa, please. In a very short time all of Norr will come looking to kill me. You can’t be involved.” She grabbed her mount's reins and swiftly lead him towards the door.

“There has to be a way around this, just let me think. Damn it—wait!" Alyssa grabbed her hand.

“No!" Raven jerked away, robes spiraling like a shadow around her. “I won't let you ruin your life for me."

“I don't care what the bloody peerage thinks of me—"

Raven took her face in her hands, looking Alyssa over with a hungry emotion. “You’ve been incredibly kind to me. Let me show you a kindness now." Raven kissed her softly and retreated. “Forget about me.”

“Kindness?” Passion made the words painful. Hot tears pricked her eyes, but she wouldn't let them fall. "You're terribly cruel!"

Hooves sounded on stone, a quick staccato pace as Raven hurried to the end of the stables.

 _Not like this_. A wash of uncertainty left her nauseous and dizzy with despair. Farther and farther Raven walked, the distance between them growing like a void, taking with it the sweet words and endearing touch that reminded Alyssa, unequivocally, that she was in love.

In love with a woman three paces away from walking out of her life. Forever. A surge of anger hardened her resolve, made her trembling limbs tighten, fists clench.

With all the air and authority of her rank, Alyssa stepped forward, voice carrying down the stalls. " _Stop!_ "

Raven ground to a halt so quickly her horse nearly knocked her over. She glanced back, expression mystified.

“About time you listened.” Alyssa strode to Raven and jerked the reins from her hand. “This stubbornness is one of your less endearing qualities.”

Raven blinked at her own feet, then to her hands, some thought furrowing her brows.

“What? What’s wrong with you?”

“How did . . .” She shook off the thought. “Never mind.”

“That’s right, never mind. Go ready a horse for me. The one in stall thirty-two. I'll find you something to wear.”

“Alyssa, you can't ride out of here with me. Everyone will see—you're the queen!”

"Yes, I am," she snapped. “No one will question my leave of the city. Dressed as you are, you won't make it past the gates, let alone out of Norr. There are guards everywhere. Did you plan to kill them all?”

“I’d planned to have been gone by now.”

"You're outnumbered, my love. A mad dash to the gates is a foolish end for a striking, clever woman. You’re much better suited to freedom than martyrdom." She brushed her fingertips along Raven's jaw and watched the thoughts flicker behind those lovely violet eyes. “Don't argue with me, charming dark traveler. We haven't the time.”

Snarling curses under her breath, Raven left to fetch the horse, returning shortly with a saddled and very proud white stallion.

“There you are, hurry up.” Alyssa took the reins and shoved a bundle of clothing into Raven's arms. “Take off your Hudar garb, put this on. I'll do something with your hair. Off with it, we've only a few minutes before the guards swing by on their rounds." Alyssa wrenched the fabric from the woman before she could get it completely off.

“This is never going to work,” Raven said.

“Hold still.” She raked her fingers through that wild black hair and worked it into a loose braid. “Your name is Sara. You’re a stable hand. You and I are going on a nice ride to try out my new horse. Look at no one, just ride by my side and we'll be out the gates in no time.”

Raven glanced at her new attire and scowled. “I look ridiculous.”

“You look unremarkable—which is precisely the point.” She swung onto her horse and adjusted the reins. “And for the love of the gods, wash that blood off your hands.”

“If you really intend to follow me into the wilds, you’d better get used to it.”

“If you intend to make it out of this stable, you’d better drop the attitude.”

Raven arched a brow but said nothing. She washed her hands at the water spigot, wiped them dry on her clothing and then mounted her horse. “After you. _Your grace_.”

“You’ll pay for that later.” Alyssa heeled her stallion, leading them out into the bright mid-morning sunlight.


	3. Chapter 3

In the bustling kitchen, Hannah hefted a bag of rolled oats over her shoulder and clomped towards the prep table. Just as she passed the door to the back garden, it flung open and crashed into the wall. The young servant girl she’d sent out to fetch herbs darted inside, running right into her.

“What in the name of Zeus is wrong with you, girl?” she barked, struggling with keeping the heavy bag in her grip.

“Dead,” she squeaked, hands clasped to her mouth.

“What?” Hannah leaned closer. “Speak up. I’m deaf in one ear.”

“Th-the priest. In the garden,” she said, trembling. “He’s dead!”

Hannah’s gaze shifted to the open door. Dropping the oats, she grabbed the girl by the hand and tugged her outside. Her pace faltered at the sight of Favir’s motionless body, white robes stained vermillion, pale blue eyes vacant. Several feet away, a royal guard lay face down in the dirt, an odd heap of armor and cloth. Hannah knew who had slain these men.

The girl began to whimper, trying to pull out of her grip.

“Shh!” she snapped. Raven must have fled. Any rational person would. “Shut up, you hear me? Did you tell anyone else you saw this?”

Hand still plastered over her mouth, the girl jerked her head side to side in answer.

Hannah pursed her lips, studying Favir’s lifeless face. She didn’t feel the slightest bit sorry for the conceited bigot. Far as she was concerned, he deserved it. The guard however, was a different matter. That would be difficult a crime to escape. Old eyes locked on the far door of the garden, Hannah said a quick prayer to the gods. _Run fast, Hudar. Run fast._

Turning back into the kitchen, she tugged the petrified girl with her. “Come along, dearie. I’m sure we can find some herbs elsewhere.” She bolted the garden door behind them, sealing off the silent, grisly scene.

**O.O.O.O.O**

At the market, Melissah handed off the reins of her mount to a stable hand. The young man gawked at the emblem on the leather saddle. “Is this the—”

“Queen’s horse. Yes, it is. And you would do well to treat him kindly during his short stay with you.” Melissa placed a gold coin in the man’s hand. “I won’t be long.”

Grinning, he pocketed the coin and gave the black gelding’s neck a scratch. “The royal treatment, it is.”

Adjusting her riding coat, Melissah strode into the busy market. Her task seemed simple and straightforward, but she conducted herself with grave seriousness. She idolized Alyssa Norxis with the childish innocence of one whose mother had died young and father never bothered to come home. Left to wandering the streets at twelve, she did whatever necessary to survive. Adept at pick-pocketing the wallets of wealthy nobles, she expanded her skills into acquiring all manner of goods. Her thin stature and unimposing demeanor meant she blended in with the background. Melissah made a wonderful thief. But even a thief, blinded by hunger, made mistakes.

On one of the queen’s routine rides through Olisgard, she spotted the young woman swiping a loaf of bread from a stall at the market. Caught and rightly terrified, Melissah spewed her life’s misfortunes, groveling in complete hysterics, surely moments away from death or a dungeon, and she wasn’t sure which was worse.

Instead of alarming the guard, the queen delivered her own stern judgment. Melissah’s punishment was a roof over her head, food on the table, and a proper upbringing in the palace, so long as she swore loyalty to Alyssa Norxis. Only a fool would turn down that offer, however lacking in a choice there was. But only a clever, street-smart vagabond would notice that pledge was to the woman, not the queen of Norr. Melissah had spent four peaceful years happily obliging.

And as such, the market was somewhere she was very familiar with.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Dominick Kenos liked to think himself a patient man. However, after enduring an hour-long breakfast listening to the peerage of Norr bicker and banter over every trivial thing, he’d run out of that patience. His gaze drifted to the empty chair beside him. He hoped Alyssa was alright.

The door to the great hall flew open, slamming against the wall, and two royal guards rushed towards the head of the table. “Your grace, there’s been an incident,” Captain Roberts said, eyeing the watchful, nosey peerage. “Would you please come with me?”

Kenos followed the guards to the hall. “What sort of incident?”

“The priest from Sekhmet’s Temple arrived this morning to convene with the prophet.” The captain’s brow furrowed. “He was just found in the kitchen gardens, your grace. Sword wound to his throat. Dead three-quarters of an hour. There was also a guard there with him, slain. His sword is missing.”

Kenos blinked once. Twice.

“My guard had no visible wounds on him anywhere. And his eyes—” Roberts hesitated, armor creaking as he shifted. “Sir, his eyes have gone pure white. He’s been _cursed_.”

That word, anathema, an implicit atrocity in this land. There was only one plausible cause.

“Where is the prophet?” he said.

“Unaccounted for, your grace.” The royal guard murmured, hand clenching the grip of his sword at his waist. “The head cook said she hadn’t seen the priest or the prophet this morning. The kitchens were busy and loud. No one heard or saw anything. My men are scouring the grounds as we speak. I’ve sent carrier birds to all the outposts, the citadel and Northgate. The prophet isn’t getting out the gates of Olisgard without being seen.”

Kenos ground his teeth. He should have known—what a fool he had been! She was a Hudar witch, and he let her waltz among the good citizens of his kingdom like any other. She was so polite and reserved, obedient, unobtrusive . . . and it was all a ruse. He’d used her like a pawn, and in turn, she had used him.

Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned—and she was no mere woman. There was no way he would be able to continue his expedition to the Spire with the prophet loose in the wilds. With all that she’d learned here, and the skills she’d acquired from Khalimat, it would ruin him. Raven had the potential to be a far greater adversary than the mighty Daskis, and he had slighted her. Mocked her. _Underestimated_ her.

Anxiety crept up his throat, tasting of bile. “Send word to Priestess Khalimat in Kebos. Ask her if she knows anywhere the witch might go.”

“Sir, presumably she’s headed west.”

“All the roads from here to Hudar are well guarded. She won’t make it to the wilds. She’s going to head either north or south first and cross over,” he snapped. No, she wouldn’t head south. Khalimat was there, as well as the Citadel. Too many obstacles. “North. Send a team north, towards the mountains. We might intercept her if we can get ahead.”

“Of course, sir,” Roberts said. “I’ve already sent word to the riders. They’re familiar with the passes.”

Rapid footsteps sounded, and another guard sprinted towards them wide-eyed. “Your grace! My lord Captain!” he panted, trying to catch his breath as he skidded to a halt. “The stables. The hand and his pages were locked in the feed room. Three horses are gone!”

Kenos' heart gave a shuddering beat. Raven was making devilishly good time. “Which horses? Which are missing?”

The young guard wiped sweat from his brow. “Ah, the queen’s black gelding. The new white stallion. And a bay gelding from the soldier’s stables.”

The captain nodded, expression stony. “Your grace, the queen informed me early this morning that her maidservant would be taking her horse to the market on an errand. But the stallion and the soldier’s horse? Would the witch take two?”

 _The stallion_. He felt the blood leave his face. “Where is Alyssa?” Gaze moving between the three men, his strained calm began to crack. “Where is she? When was the last time anyone saw her? She went for a walk an hour ago, did none of your guards see? _Where is she?_ ”

With a curt gesture from the captain, the two guards sprinted away. “Did the queen go to the stables, you think? The new stallion is a fine steed. Surely she just took him for a ride.”

“Possibly. She wanders when she’s upset.” He ran both hands through his hair, gazing at the high ceiling of the hall. Would the prophet seek out the queen as a means to get back at him? Would Alyssa be able to recognize the maliciousness of the witch before it was too late? _She’s distracted. She had a bad dream. Needed some fresh air. There was something on her mind._ He had the sudden overwhelming fear that he might never find out what that something was.

Roberts lowered his voice. “Do you think the witch would abduct the queen?”

Unadulterated panic surged through him, violently acrid. It was possible—anything was possible. Hands fisted in the captain’s uniform, he jerked the man close. “Find my wife. Bring the witch to me—alive. Am I clear? _Bring her to me!_ ”

**O.O.O.O.O**

Playing with the coin purse in her pocket, Melissah wove her way through the crowd, headed for the less amiable section at the eastern side of the market. Santiago Sucocci was a familiar name from her younger, less dignified days. His obscure stone shop looked just as she’d remembered. An ominous mystery at the end of the alley, with stained glass windows and macabre décor.

Near the entrance a heavy man leaned against the wall, picking his filthy nails with a hunting knife. Melissah ignored his hungry gaze and let herself in the front door. The old wood rattled a bell above the threshold, and as the door slammed shut, a figure emerged from a doorway across the large room.

As always, Santiago dressed from head to toe in an elaborately crafted outfit. Ebony and auburn, a contrasting pattern distinctly eastern in design. The close-fitting attire showed off broad shoulders, a trim waist, and accentuated his considerable height. To this day, she had never seen his face. No one had. A sleek, utilitarian mask hid the man’s true identity. Only his left eye was visible, black as sin and accented by a smear of orange on the mask. It suited him somehow, this theatrical garb.

“Now here’s a face I haven’t seen in ages,” he said, voice low and smooth as cream. With a few long strides he towered over her. “How you’ve grown, little thief. You look like a noble on her way to court. Very becoming.”

“It has been a while,” she admitted, somewhat guilty. She hadn’t visited this end of the market in years. “The queen made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

“I’d heard.” She couldn’t see it, but his voice suggested a smile. “Alyssa Norxis isn’t someone you should aim to disappoint.”

“And I don’t. You’re aware I’m here on her behalf?”

“I am aware.” Santiago turned on his toes in a flourish, arms outstretched. He moved behind the counter and retrieved a small brown package wrapped in twine. “It was a peculiar request, I must admit. Especially with what one hears these days.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean exactly what I say. This package contains something completely unremarkable—disappointing, even. But when coupled with certain knowledge, it’s most interesting.”

She rolled her eyes. Santiago enjoyed riddles, and while they may come across as harmless, Melissah was no fool. “Do you ever really say what you mean?”

With a chuckle, the fence extended his hand, palm upright. “That is an expensive question, my dear.”

“You wouldn't answer even if I had the coin to bribe.”

“You always were a clever one.”

She placed the queen’s coin purse in Santiago’s hand and tugged the package closer. It was soft somewhat, firmer in other places. Clothing, perhaps? Or was it leather? She didn’t dare open it.

Santiago made the purse vanish with a wave of his fingers. “Tell me, have there been any new arrivals at the palace?”

“You know as well as I that all the peerage in the kingdom is in Olisgard. They attended the celebration for the so-called victory in Hudar.”

“I sense discontentment from the queen’s favorite.” The man leaned on his elbows, mimicking her posture. “Something amiss with Kenos’ ambitious expedition into uncharted lands?”

“It doesn’t really matter what I think, now does it?”

“My dear, what you think is the only things that matters. You can tell your old friend. We’ve known one another long enough.”

“You want information out of me? Santiago, that’s going to cost you.”

Drumming his fingers on the counter, he glanced at the package, then to the door, before settling that one eye on her. “I’ve heard the prophet has stayed in the palace these past three months, free to wander as a citizen.”

“That’s correct.”

“And even the priest guardian from the south has left. Raven the Hudar has been residing under the same roof as the king and queen, and absolutely nothing strange has occurred? She hasn’t smothered them in her sleep? Painted the halls with blood?”

“Everyone goes on about how much of a barbarian she is. Like she’s liable to snap at any moment. I think it’s a load of pig shit.”

He snorted. “Go on.”

“She’s rough around the edges, but she’s also one of the most respectable people I’ve ever met. She’s humble. Intelligent. Kind.”

Santiago leaned forward. “You’ve met her?”

She smiled. “I’m sensing envy from Norr’s most notorious fence. She’s certainly quite interesting.”

“You’re fond of the prophet, then. Very peculiar indeed.” He stroked his chin. “I must meet this witch.”

“You’d have to leave the market for that. Are you even allowed within a hundred paces of the palace?”

“It’s only a matter of timing. Eventually our paths will cross. Like ours have again, little rose.” Straightening, Santiago pushed the package closer to her. “Tell the queen that I do so approve of her tastes, will you?”

With a lopsided smile, she snatched the package and nestled it under one arm. “I’ll be sure to, my lord Santiago.”

He clasped his hands behind his back. “I assume it’s too much to hope that you might take interest in a few odd jobs now and then? No one can ever follow simple directions anymore. I think care has dwindled in the thieving community.”

“You do miss me! You old boar.”

Santiago’s eye rolled, and with an elegant gesture, he pointed to the door. “Be gone now, lest I send my street dogs to find you and collect upon the debt I’m owed.”

The following silence dragged far too long. She hesitated in the doorway. “I owe you no debt.”

Santiago’s eye narrowed. “If you recall, you were on an errand for me when you were caught stealing bread by the queen. I paid you in advance. Foolish of me, perhaps, but you never gave me reason to fret.”

Santiago was after something, placing her on dangerous ground. “What do you want in return?”

Tilting his head to the side, the masked man paced the few feet separating them. His cool, gloved hand trailed a finger across her cheek. “When you acquire some interesting information, I expect you to share. That is all.”

Relief eased her shoulders. That wasn’t too terrible a request. “You have my word. Anything interesting and you will know of it.” With one last parting smile, Melissah scurried out the door.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Alyssa had transformed into a bundle of anxiety swathed in pretty clothes. Harboring a fugitive, lending her aid in escape, giving her disguise and means. Her rational mind did nothing but repeat this fear over and over again, but her heart beat with such vibrant pride that it drowned out all else. Regardless of the consequences, she wouldn’t rather be anywhere else at this moment. There was even something inherently exciting about fleeing Olisgard on a spur of the moment decision. Could she really just throw away all that she’d gained for this uncertain future? She was wound too tightly with nervousness to tell.

Pace at a quick trot, she led them further west on the main road. They hadn’t run into a single complication since leaving the stables. Citizens and country folk waved them by, none the wiser. Word hasn’t spread yet. Maybe they hadn’t found the bodies. Rounding the bend in the road, the heavily patrolled western gate came into view. The great wall surrounding Olisgard rose twenty feet high, constructed of granite mined from the mountains in the north. To this day, the walls had never been breached.

“We need a plan.” Alyssa checked her mount to allow Raven’s shorter bay to catch up. “When we get out the gates, where do you aim to go?”

Silent, the Hudar studied the sky. “Alyssa—the ravens.”

Three carrier birds flew swiftly ahead of them, traveling west with purpose. “I see them. Just follow my lead.” She drove her horse into an easy canter.

“North,” Raven said, keeping pace. “We head north.”

Alyssa eased her horse back to a trot just as they neared the gates. A dozen guards studied them as they approached. _Moment of truth. Sweet gods, be merciful_.

“Your grace,” an archer shouted from atop the tower. “What a lovely sight you make in the morning sunshine!”

“Oh, stop.” She feigned embarrassment.

Guards standing near the opened gate grinned at one another. The lieutenant put his hands on his hips and whistled. “Is that a new horse? Look at that gait. He’s a might bit full of himself, isn’t he?”

“Indeed.” She ruffled the stallion’s mane. “I thought I’d take him for a nice ride this morning. Let him stretch his legs. I’ve brought my servant along, so you needn’t worry about me.”

As they passed a trio of loud soldiers, Raven’s horse spooked. He sidestepped, tail swishing as she circled him back in line.

“Oy, you lot quiet down.” The lieutenant stepped towards Raven. “Easy now, miss. Keep hold of him.”

Alyssa forced herself not to look at Raven. Her very skin pricked and crawled with worry. “Have your men been to the palace since the celebration? It’s so far away from the fete out here. I do hope your captain let you enjoy yourselves last night. If only a little bit.” She winked.

They all laughed.

“We’ve never left our post, your grace. But we toasted to Norr’s victory,” the lieutenant said. “Don’t stray too far, I think it’s going to rain. I’d hate for you to get caught in a storm.”

Dark clouds lurked in the western sky, and the scent of rain carried on the cool breeze.

“I do think you’re right.” She glanced at Raven, silent and eyes downcast, and swallowed the rock in her throat. The lieutenant’s gaze weighed heavy on her, spurring a bout of nausea. For Athena’s sake, you’re the queen. Just go. “Thank you for the concern, lieutenant. We’ll be quick about it. Come along, Sara! See if you can keep up!” She heeled the stallion into a gallop and barreled through the gate.

The guards cheered.

“Your grace, wait!” Raven yelled.

Alyssa looked over her shoulder. Raven raced after her, grinning ear to ear.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Atop the tower, the guards shouted encouragement as the two women raced north across the open field surrounding the city. The lieutenant snatched an apple from his bag and took a bite. Alyssa Norxis grew up on the back of a horse. The poor servant girl didn’t stand a chance. When the two women disappeared into the tree line, he headed to the tower.

“We’ve received a raven from the palace!” A guard shouted down the stairwell.

“Quit your yelling. I’ll be up in a moment.” He’d had too much wine last night, and was feeling a bit out of it this morning. They all were.

“Sir, come quickly!”

The alarm in that tone made his teeth itch. The lieutenant dashed up the winding staircase and strode into the main room of the watchtower. A gangly raven sat perched on the open windowsill, with eerie black eyes and alien expression. Without a word, the guard handed him a rolled up note.

Lips pressed in a thin, he read over the incident at the palace. Shit. He crumpled the note in his fist and pointed to the door. “Seal the gates. Nothing gets in or out,” he snapped. “The Hudar prophet has slain two men and is on the run. I want all eyes vigilant, you hear me? And send your fastest riders to fetch the queen.”

The guard scurried to the steps, shouting the orders back down to the awaiting men. Loud voices echoed in the watchtower as the royal guard came to full attention. The massive, heavy gate groaned slowly towards the ground.

A second raven fluttered in the window, jostling the first with a nasty squawking sound. They pecked at one another, making an awful racket.

“What is it now?” He snatched the thin note from the bird’s ankle. Every ounce of warmth drained from his face.

“What is it, sir?” the guard asked.

“The queen . . . has been missing more than an hour?” His gaze shifted to the window.

Missing? She just went for a morning ride. Nothing out of the ordinary. She didn’t seem the least bit concerned of anything just a moment ago. In fact, she seemed quite happy, and accompanied by a maidservant from the palace. The woman hadn’t said a word, but her horse seemed a bit skittish. Due to the men, perhaps. Or maybe . . .

A stray thought caught his attention. “What color hair did the servant have? The one riding with the queen, on the bay horse.”

“Black. I believe the queen called her Sara.” The guard blinked. “Her hair was black . . . in a long braid. Sir, I don’t think—”

“None of the servants in the palace have black hair! They’re all from Olisgard. Brown or blonde is all we breed here! Sound the alarm, send a team after the queen—she doesn’t know that’s the prophet!”

Snatching a blank note roll, the lieutenant scratched a quick note to the palace. He secured it to the raven’s leg and shooed the bird off the window, watching it flap its ugly wings towards the palace. His heart firmly lodged between his tonsils. He had let the Hudar murderer march through the gates with the queen of Norr.

The king would have his head for this.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Melissah grew wary as she neared the stables. A mass of guards readied horses, shouting curt orders. Tension hung heavy in the air. One man noticed her and came striding out of the stables, grabbing her horse’s reins before she could slip away unnoticed.

“What’s your name, girl? And why do you ride the queen’s horse?”

“My lord, I am Melissah Rossario, the queen’s maidservant,” she replied tightly. They should know that. The queen told them she was going to be out. “Is something wrong?”

“Captain, over here!” The guard shouted, then held a hand up to her. “Dismount. Quickly!”

Melissah took his hand and he practically wrenched her to the ground. She clutched the package beneath her arm. Another guard snatched the reins and led the black gelding away. Before she could inquire the problem, a tall, stern-faced man approached, bearing the mark of captain.

Stark grey uniform highlighted by shining armor, even his boots held the air of importance. Something in his pale expression churned her stomach.

“My lord.” She curtsied.

“You are Melissah?” He looked her over. “You’re not dressed as a servant.”

 _A might bit conceited, aren’t we?_ “The queen decides what I wear, my lord. This was what I was given. If you’ll excuse me, I’ve been on an errand for her majesty. I’m to report back to her immediately.” She turned to leave, but a hand grasped her firmly at the elbow and jerked her back a step.

“The queen is missing,” Captain Roberts snapped.

“What?” she blurted. “But—I just saw her and hour ago, maybe a little longer! In the hall near the courtyard!”

He eyed the package under her arm. “What was the errand?”

She held it tighter. “The queen forbade me from speaking of it to anyone. All I can say is that I went to the market and returned.” Alyssa was missing? But—how? Did it have something to do with the package?

The captain dragged her towards a young, freshly trained guard. “Take her to the king. No stops—understood?”

“Yes, sir,” the guard nodded.

Captain Roberts stormed off, leaving the two blinking at one another.

A shiver of fear crept down her spine. The king wanted to see her? Troubling news. The package seemed to grow heavy as a bolder in her arms.

“Come with me, miss.” The guard gently took her by the arm. He had a kind face. “I’m sorry for the captain’s gruffness. It’s been quite a morning.”

 _Aqua_ _._ His eyes were the lovely color of the sea. Black hair peeked past the edges of his helmet. He couldn’t be more than eighteen. Young and inexperienced. A smile tug at the corner of her lips. He would be easy to get away from.

She patted his hand on her arm. “And who might you be, my lord?”

Flashing a shy smile, he held the door to the palace proper for her. “Grayson, my lady. From Yales.”

The southern province, then. That would explain the dark hair. But blue eyes? Must have some northern blood in him, though it definitely didn’t help with his height. “Well, Grayson, I must ask. All these guards are not just looking for the queen. Besides, she can’t be missing. She went for a walk or something. Why so many guards?”

He shook his head. “My lady, I cannot say.”

 _Quite green if he addresses me as my lady_. They headed down the hall towards the stairs. If an incident had occurred, the king would be in his main chambers in the western tower, convening with his generals. Or, he would be in the courtyard addressing the guard. Either way, Melissah had the sinking suspicion that whatever the king wanted from her would pertain to this package.

She would not betray Alyssa, no matter who demanded. Escape danced in her mind, reminiscent of her old days on the street. It would be a simple task, like the sleight of hand. One moment she’d be there, and the next poor Grayson would find himself standing alone without his charge.

“Very well then,” she sighed. “But must you hold my arm like that? I’m a servant, not a criminal.”

Startled, Grayson let go. “My—I don’t think of you as such.” He indicated the stone staircase. Indeed, they were headed for the western tower. “This way, my lady.”

Eyeing him, she gathered her skirt in her free hand and took the steps one at a time. “If I may ask, my lord, what made you want to become a royal guard?”

He glanced up ahead. “My father was a soldier. I aim to be like him one day.”

“Was?”

“He was killed in Hudar. Last year. He was one of the first ranks to reach the mountains.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” She studied the curve of the steps.

Ahead of them would be an alcove with a hidden nook leading to the servant’s quarters. The passageways were how the servants could travel to and fro without being seen, unobtrusive and silent. They also had their other uses.

A few steps away from escape, Melissah steeled her nerves. “I’m sure you will do him honor, Lord Grayson. You seem to be a good man, and we’ve so little of them these days.”

“My lady, you flatter me—

She pressed on the smooth stone, engaging a hidden door within the curved walls. In half a moment, she’d slipped inside and closed the door. With each step she shed an article of clothing, until nothing but her under garments remained. Her next task would be difficult, and she had just the right outfit in mind.

Melissah emerged from an alcove on the far side of the palace dressed in common street garb. Slinging a tattered bag over one shoulder, she hurried to the doors. With the quiet grace learned within these walls, she slipped past a group of bickering guards and took to the streets of Olisgard with steadfast determination. She would find the queen and deliver her package, even if it was the last task she’d ever undertake.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Alyssa and Raven raced as if the very ghouls of hell were at their heels, driving onward north until their mounts began to tire. After an hour’s time, the sparsely wooded grassland gave way to a thick deciduous forest. Alyssa cursed under her breath as branches and thorns snagged her elegant riding attire, whipped her face, tangled in her hair.

Raven wove through the trees with an innate sense of the forest, ducking and weaving without much difficulty. Her shorter, less bulky horse had an easier time in the woods, and they took the lead, aiming to put as much distance between them and Olisgard as possible. They stopped at a shallow creek bed, letting their horses drink and rest.

Alyssa tugged a briar from her hair. “How long do you think we have before the lieutenant figures out that you weren’t a palace servant?”

“They already know.” Raven dug in the saddlebag, retrieved her stolen sword and secured it around her waist. “The question is how long before they catch us.”

“We’ve an admirable head-start, you must admit.”

“Admirable isn’t the word I would choose.”

“Well, aren’t you a cynical absconder.”

Raven didn’t even glance in her direction. She stooped by her horses feet and ran her hands down his legs.

Alyssa frowned. “What’s troubling you?”

Only the subdued babble of the creek replied, ticking by with the long seconds.

“Raven, look at me.”

Violet eyes snapped to meet hers, harboring a trace of anguish. “I would have rather you didn’t come, that’s all.”

Torment weighed down her light mood. “I do hope that’s not because you fear I will slow you down.”

Raven glanced in the direction they’d fled from. “I fear something will happen to you, Alyssa. Something terrible, because of me.”

“Stop it,” she snapped. “You did not force me to come. You made a choice and I made mine. Do not think to lessen that because you feel misplaced guilt.”

Raven stalked over and stood eye to eye with her, only a few inches shorter. Even in servant’s clothing and a neat braid, she had the look of the wild to her. “I feel no guilt—only agony. And you seek to add to it by being a fool!”

“I am no fool—”

“You’re betraying the very nation you rule for one barbaric, wretched witch!” The words were seeped in self-loathing, but they stung Alyssa’s flesh like a lash.

She grasped Raven’s shoulders, keeping her close when she tried to pull away. “You are not wretched.” She waited for those haunted eyes to look at her again. “Raven, you are not barbaric. You are not a lesser being. I’m not so blinded by your strange charm to miss the wild in you—”

Raven’s expression went blank, a strong, impenetrable mask snapping in place.

“—but that does not frighten me.”

“It should,” she whispered.

“You don’t frighten me,” Alyssa said. “There’s very little surety in this world. I’ve met countless people—citizens of Norr—who would drive a blade in my back without hesitation if they believed they could get away with it. They smile and nod and lie to my face. They steal and cheat, mislead and scheme. Evil, truly wretched creatures nobles are. But you…” She brushed a stray hair off Raven’s cheek, studying her alabaster face, flush with exertion. “I know in my very soul that you will never betray me. I can see it in your eyes.”

The hardness crumbled from Raven’s face. She cleared her throat and looked away. “We ride for Jamestown, then. Hopefully we can procure supplies before someone catches us. You they will be happy to see. Myself, however, they will probably flay alive.”

“You will never be caught.” She pulled Raven into a fierce hug and lingered in the comfort of that embrace. She catalogued her scent, the smoothness of that neck, the strength in those arms. Letting go came to soon. “Where do we head after Jamestown?”

Facing west, an odd little smile replaced the usual frown on Raven’s face. A cool wind whispered through the trees, making the loose hairs dance around her face. “We tackle the badlands and ride for Hudar.”          


	4. Chapter 4

Raven and Alyssa kept a steady pace north through the dense forest, avoiding soft ground whenever possible in hopes to lessen their tracks. The rough trek wound between trees, over creek beds, around hills. It wasn't until they were more than half way to Jamestown before they heard the cadence of soldiers crashing through the woods behind them. Eight, maybe ten armed men keen on catching the two women. 

"How are they gaining ground so quickly?” Alyssa said. “We've stopped naught but twice!"

"They're not. The sound’s echoing in the valley. Follow me." Raven turned her mount east, urging him up a steep embankment.

It was a perilous grade of wet earth and fallen logs, and more than once Alyssa feared her stallion would tumble backwards on top of her. Rocks clattered, branches snapped, the horse's heavy breathing sounded like a billows, loud and hair-raising. Several hundred yards higher the ridge plateaued into a semi-arid flat of thin, wind-swept pine. To the west and far below at the bottom of the valley, a few splashes of shiny metal moved through the green. The guards had miles to go to round the valley. Jamestown stood to the east, down a gently sloping ridge. They had cut their travel distance in half by scaling the embankment. Mountain, Alyssa corrected, studying the landscape. They'd scaled a mountain.

They let their horses rest a moment, feeding them a few handfuls of sweet grain. They would have to buy more feed in town to supplement grass and greens, and keep their mounts in good stamina. Alyssa's stomach growled as she loosened her riding jacket.

"I've some coin,” Raven said. “We'll find you something to eat in town.”

"I'm fine," she huffed. "Really. I can go without lunch and not faint. I'm not a frail flower."

Raven plucked a leaf from Alyssa's hair. "This is a good look for you, I think. Rugged queen of Norr scales first mountain. Very becoming."

She snatched Raven's wrist and tugged her close. "I look a mess. How is it that your hair, which is always such a disaster, somehow looks dignified? That braid kept through all that foliage—not one briar or stickyweed. How is that possible?"

"Because you braided my hair?"

Alyssa snorted and shoved her away. “You’ve coin, that’s helpful. But how are we to procure anything in town? Surely word’s spread by now."

"It's quite simple. You are going to stay hidden while I venture into town and secure our supplies," Raven said.

“And how is that logical?”

"You stand out, Alyssa. Dressed as I am, I do not. To the casual observer, at least."

"I do not stand out.”

Raven laughed. "You're riding a gorgeous, expensive white stallion. Your riding clothes cost more than some commoner's homes, and your eyes, however beautiful, are quite unique. They will know in a moment who you are. Then you'll be swept away by the royal guard and carted back to Olisgard. To your king."

"I am not sitting in the woods.” She glanced down the ridge. "What if something happens to you? What if you’re captured? How would I know?"

“I've survived this long. It would be too ironic for something to befall me now. The gods are far crueler than that." Raven adjusted her tan robes to hide the sword at her waist, and then retrieved something from her saddlebag. “Take it.” She forced a dagger into Alyssa’s hands.

An elegantly tooled hilt, fine leather sheath and polished steel blade. Alyssa tested the sharpness with her thumb. This belonged to someone important. “Where did you get this?”

“An old friend.” Gathering her gelding's reins, Raven swung into the saddle. "We'll follow the tree line down. Once we find a suitable spot for you to wait, I'll slip into town."

Alyssa climbed into her own saddle with a quiet groan. Her muscles were sore already, and the prospect of more rough terrain made her weary. “And what am I to do while I wait? Talk to him?” she gestured to her horse. The stallion turned his head around and nipped at the toe of her boot. “Stop that! I swear, he's worse than a yearling. How old are you, nag?”

"You could think of a name for him," Raven said.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Khalimat set down her cup of tea, gazing across the lush gardens of her private chambers in Kebos. Time had been kind to her. Grey streaks in her lush black hair and wrinkles in her dark skin only added an edge of dignity to the now sixty-two year old Norrian. Well-respected by all in the realm, but she didn’t attain such reverence by her looks. Wit and ambition drove her to power, and it was that very intelligence that nagged her each passing day as of late, like a pebble in her shoe.

With winter slowly rolling in, the stifling heat of the Gentle Desert would drop to something more tolerable. In a little more than a month’s time, the sacred Longest Night of the year would arrive. As high priestess of the temple of Sekhmet, Khalimat was in charge of the ceremony. Norrians from all over the southern province would come to celebrate, eager to watch the magic of the holy day. Eager to see the Hudar part the veil. If the king continued his ambitious trek to the Spire, Khalimat feared he would beg further use of the prophet. 

As such, this would be the first year in almost a decade that she would have to conduct the ritual without Raven. The Hudar had impeccable discipline when it came to ceremony and gifted with a vast capacity for all walks of magic—some Khalimat didn’t have a name for. As such, she kept her aptly named prophet on a very short leash. After fifteen years, she trusted the woman—to a point.

Frowning, she pushed the fruit around on her plate. She’d never had such a difficult time taming a vagabond as she did with Raven. Perhaps it was her quiet disdain, the snide remarks, the general cynicism. The woman had redeeming qualities, because most of the adepts of the temple liked Raven—the previously mentioned attributes notwithstanding. Khalimat doubted Raven felt the same way. The civilized world had been unjustly cruel to the Hudar, and while she functioned admirably within the confines of this society, it took a toll on Raven. She’d hoped the break from the strict desert life and the colorful new environment of Olisgard would be beneficial to the gloomy woman. If one thing was a priority, it was Raven’s sanity. If it were to dwindle, Khalimat didn’t want to think of what the wronged Hudar might do.

“Excuse me, priestess,” a servant said, jarring her out of her thoughts. “We’ve received a raven from the palace in Olisgard.”

Favir made good time there. She accepted the note. While it pained her to acknowledge, the irritating priest had completed all that was necessary to achieve his white robes. She hoped Raven gave the stick of a man as much hell now as she did when they had first met. Unrolling the thin strip of parchment, she read a hastily written message in the king’s hand.

— _The Prophet has slain Favir and a royal guard, and fled Olisgard. Priestess, do you know what she might do? Hudar is her likely destination, but what of between now and then? How much danger are we in? What sort of monster did you send to me?—_

Khalimat sat back in her chair, weather-worn fingers covering her mouth as she read the note again. Raven was not prone to violent outbursts. The woman never lost her temper, never made a fool of herself. She never betrayed what she really thought. Favir forced her hand. The question was: by what means? What did the arrogant priest discover that would warrant his permanent silence, and so quickly?

The second and more important question was the same concerning Kenos. What would Raven do? Given the Hudar’s sense of justice, Kenos might not have a foot to step with soon. And what of her own safety? Would Raven return to Kebos? Would she risk moving so close to a temple surrounded by guards and outposts? Khalimat couldn’t say for sure. She’d have to convene with the gods and bid their guidance. Perhaps even their protection.

“Bring me parchment and ink,” Khalimat asked the servant boy. “And find the captain of the Citadel. Tell him I seek his counsel.”

A little earthly protection was never unwise, either.

**O.O.O.O.O**

The arid ridge sloped down into an evergreen forest, the unofficial line of the northern province. They weren’t far off from Jamestown now, meaning there would be villagers, travelers, witnesses to their presence. They had to be careful.

“Which direction is north?” Alyssa asked.

Raven pointed slightly to their left, towards the peak of a mountain visible between the break in the trees. “Town is at the base of that mountain, right? We’re close.”

“Are you still keen on leaving me?”

“Absolutely.”

Raven was as stubborn as a cow resting in the middle of the road. There was little argument that the she could muster, considering the truth to Raven's concern. Even with her violet eyes, Raven looked rather unremarkable as she was dressed. Years spent as a background fixture made her adept at blending in.

Alyssa sighed. ”You'll get me something comfortable and warm, yes?"

"No, I thought to get you something pleasing to the eye. It's a dreadfully long trip into Hudar.”

She threw a stick, hitting the wry woman in the back of the head.

"Oww! I'll get you something warm."

“Good."

After a suitable hiding spot was located, Raven rode off for town, leaving Alyssa sulking in a secluded cove of trees. An ache throbbed behind her eyes. She pinched the bridge of her nose and regretted skipping breakfast. _How would I have known I was going on the lam this morning?_

Suddenly remembering Melissah, worry rose in her chest. Surely Dominick would seek her out and question her. What if he found the package? _—No_ , she assured herself. Melissah was a thief, after all. No matter what she wore, how politely she conducted herself, how innocent she appeared; the young woman was a survivor. Alyssa admired her. _She's safe_. She rubbed her elbow. _Safer than we are_ _._

After a length of time passed with little change in her surroundings, boredom took hold. She slumped on a rock beside her horse, picking at the leather braids on the reins. Oblivious to being an instrument in a traitorous act, the stallion happily munched away on grass.

"I suppose you do need a name.” She scratched behind his ear. "What shall it be?" It seemed the horse had little concern for a name. He continued to gobble up anything green in sight. “You’re a greedy pig, that’s what you are. I would have been better off taking another horse. At this rate, you’ll eat us out of supplies before nightfall.”

A gust of wind blew through the forest, lacing the air with the sweet scent of evergreen and rain. Ominous grey sky peeked through the tree tops. The lieutenant's warning of an impending storm passed through her thoughts. November was cool and rainy in central Norr. In Hudar it was likely already snowing. A desolate, unforgiving environment awaited them. Tugging her short riding coat a little tighter, Alyssa stared at the tips of her boots, questioning if she was really prepared for this journey. 

The stallion raised his head into the wind, ears perked.

"What is it?" Alyssa scanned the trees, clutching the dagger in her hand. There were wicked people in this world, and in fleeing her kingdom she’d forfeited her status and all the perks it provided. In the sense of self-preservation, she vowed to do whatever was necessary, no matter how badly her hands were shaking, and no matter how acrid the taste of fear on the back of her tongue. You’re the queen of Norr, Alyssa. Hold yourself together.

A branch cracked somewhere to her left, twenty yards off. She jerked towards the sound. Flinging the reins back over the stallion's head, Alyssa scrambled into the saddle just as another branch cracked, closer this time. The horse took off, clambering through the brush like mad. As frantic seconds passed, Alyssa sent fleeting glances backwards, forwards, sideways. What direction was she running? She didn't know.

"Whoa, whoa!” She struggled to slow her horse down enough to gain a sense of direction. He pointedly refused, charging onward in a blind run. "Stop, you dumb beast!" She swore as they moved farther away from where Raven had left them. How would she find her way back? Damn this horse!

It was then she heard them crashing in the trees on either side of her, behind her. Three horses, three men, none of them royal guards. A quick glance at their unkept clothing confirmed her fears.

"Slow down, li’l dove!" One called. "We only want to talk with ya!"

Highwaymen. Their horses were fresher than her stallion, whose sides heaved and long strides wavered. One of the men darted beside her, atop a short brown horse. He reached for her reins.

"Piss off!" Alyssa kicked him square in the chin. He tumbled backwards off his mount and slammed into the ground.

A second man raced beside her, swiping the air between them with a stick, nearly hitting her in the head. The stallion balked at the motion, and the great white horse tripped.

She went airborne for an obscenely long pause. Sweet mother, why?

Everything came rushing forward with dirt, leaf litter and dull pain. Remembering to roll as she landed, Alyssa was up on her feet before the two remaining men had circled back towards her. The dagger clutched in her hand felt terribly heavy. Breathing short and quick, matching the thundering in her chest, she assessed her situation with scarcely contained alarm.

The two men outweighed and outsized her. The third, where ever he was, would be quite upset if he managed to stagger over to them. They were filthy, scarred, rough-spun thugs, the kind of riff-raff the guard drove out of Olisgard. The very kind that made their living stalking travelers between the towns of Norr. She was simultaneously disgusted and amazed by their presence. What were the chances of being spotted by them? Was this some sign from the gods to turn back? To abandon this foolish game, return to Olisgard, to Dominick, to everything she loathed. To let Raven slip away into the abyss of uncertainty, possibly never seen again.

No. She ground her teeth and stood tall and proud. She would not accept this. “I told you to piss off.”

"Oy, you're a might bit feisty.” The fatter of the two said, dismounting his horse. "We haven't had a feisty one in a long time."

The second whistled, smiling to show missing teeth. "Look at the clothes she's wearing. And those eyes! She's a noble, that one is! I bet we could ransom her."

"I reckon you're right. Put down the knife and we'll be gentle. We promise.” The fat man drew his own dagger from his belt. "There's a good girl, nice and steady now. Drop the knife."

The sudden and overwhelming desire for Raven's presence never came so strongly before. Alyssa wished for even an ounce of the Hudar's wildness. Something to grasp in her hand other than a blade she had no skill with. Words would be lost on these heathens, and alerting them to her title would only make matters worse.

Movement in the background caught her gaze, and a lump of panic lodged in her throat. The man she'd kicked strode towards them, sword drawn, blood streaming from his nose like war paint. _Great_. She took a step back, looking for her horse. Did he fall? Was he alive?

"Stupid bitch.” A large wound split the man’s chin, and his nose appeared bent to one side. If he was unattractive before, Alyssa's attention only heightened it. He spat and stalked closer, sword aimed for her throat. "I'll be sure to repay the favor you wretched little whore."

And just like that, the paralyzing fear was replaced with seething rage. Alyssa steadied her stance, dagger pointed at his chest.

"Take one more step and it will be your last!” An odd undercurrent tinged her words, unspoken, ominous and crystal clear.

The men hesitated, exchanging looks. Bloody man wiped his chin. "Don't just stand there, you stupid shits. Get her!"

Dagger clenched, Alyssa willed her heart to beat a little slower, long enough to think. They stepped closer, almost an arm's length away now. I'll have to kill them. She glanced at the tree tops for a moment, as if for guidance.

Or a favor.

_Crack!_

A deafening explosion echoed in the forest. Everyone jerked to stillness. A strange, hair-raising creak followed. Only Alyssa looked up in time. She leapt sideways, barely escaping the massive, ancient evergreen that toppled to the ground with a terrible crash. The enormous limbs and trunk crushed the three men beneath a sea of green, their short screams abruptly silenced.

The smell of winter christened with blood danced in the breeze. Alyssa stared, bewildered.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Raven’s light mood darkened when she scanned the cove of trees, finding Alyssa gone. _That woman_ _. I was only gone an hour._ She looked to the ground, to the set of tracks in the freshly turned earth, indicating horses had moved quickly in the very spot. _Horses? More than one_.

She dismounted her bay gelding and led him as she followed the tracks, growing more anxious as the minutes passed. Had the guards doubled back and found their trail? Had they seen Alyssa? She bent lower, inspecting a wide scar of freshly turned earth. Something had fallen.

A snort broke her concentration. To her left stood the white stallion, staring with wide, terrified eyes. No sign of Alyssa. Worry clenched her heart.

She approached the horse, noting the reins snapped in half, the slight tilt to the saddle. He’d tripped and threw Alyssa. “Easy, now.” She touched his cheek to calm him and noticed a gash above his knee, trickling blood down his stark white leg.

“That won’t do.” She placed her palm over the wound, and a shimmering blackness coated her hand. A blending of magic from her heritage and Khalimat’s tutelage. When she took her hand away, the gash was now only a faint scar, stained with dried blood.

_Crack!_

A terrible sound shot through the forest, followed by the groan and crash of a tree slamming to the ground. Raven whirled towards the commotion, eyes and ears trained in the distance. Magic hung like invisible fog, bitter on the back of her tongue. Strange magic and yet . . . familiar. She knotted the stallion’s reins back together, mounted her gelding and raced towards the commotion, horse in tow.

Nearly a quarter mile away, she found Alyssa standing alone beside the remains of a massive fir tree. She’d gone pale, dagger in one hand, the other tangled in disheveled hair.

Raven swung off her horse. “What in the name of Sekhmet—"

A bloody hand protruded from the sea of green needles beside Alyssa. The base of the tree stood firmly rooted in the ground, but the trunk had snapped thirty feet up, resulting in the felling of the entire span of canopy.

She grasped Alyssa's upper arms and shook her. "What happened? Are you okay? You're bleeding."

Alyssa blinked. "Three Highwaymen. They chased . . . My horse tripped. They were going to grab me and . . .” She looked up. At her hands. At the tree. "It just fell. Raven, I don't understand how it happened. I looked up at the tree, trying to think of a way to stop them and it just—it just fell."

She eyed the shattered trunk high above their heads. A strange way for a tree to fall without a gust of wind or lightning. Then again, strangeness seemed commonplace around that woman. Like earlier in the stables, when she had tried to leave and Alyssa halted her with one compelling command.

_Stop_ _,_ Alyssa had said. And she could do no other.

_Perhaps I’m not the only witch._ She brushed Alyssa's blonde hair aside to look at the cut on her temple. "Just a scratch. Nothing to worry about. Come, we need to head out and make camp before dark. It's going to rain."

"Did you not hear a word I said?" Alyssa pointed at the tree. “I—it—something—damnit, Raven, I did that! They're dead!"

Someone groaned from within the mound of fir needles.

Raven jerked towards the sound. There were many ways to deal with highwaymen, and she could not begrudge Alyssa’s creativity. But sometimes more intimate actions were called for. She clambered into the fallen tree and wrenched a dazed, bloody man to an upright position within the cage of limbs. His nose was broken, lips and chin split, face scratched and wounded. A proper degenerate, moments away from the afterlife.

"Hello there, fool. What a lovely dagger you have. May I see?”

“Get . . . away . . . bitch,” he wheezed, barely able to lift his arms to swat at her. “I’ll . . . kill you—”

“Thank you, kindly.” She jerked the sheath free from his belt and drew the short blade. “My, my . . . I know this steel well. You see that mark? Here, near the hilt.” She buried the dagger in his throat.

He gagged, eyes wide and mouth bloody.

“Yes, that sigil. It means you stole this blade from a Hudar. And now a Hudar is taking it back. Strange how the world works, no?”

“Raven.” Alyssa hovered on the periphery of the tree limbs.

“Yes?” She watched the highwayman twitch and writhe.

“I . . . will you come out of there?” Her voice sounded strange. Vulnerable. “Please.”

Raven wiped her new dagger clean on the man’s shirt and climbed out of the tree boughs.

Alyssa wrapped her arms around herself. “Is he dead?”

“Close enough.”

“How did that tree fall?”

_I don’t rightly know_. “Whatever the reason, it saved your life. We've a long ride ahead of us, and plenty of time to speculate."

Alyssa glanced at her stallion sulking beside Raven’s gelding. "His leg!" She darted to inspect the damage. “But, there’s no—where did this blood come from?”

"I healed him.” She’d never shared knowledge of that skill with anymore. Not even Khalimat.

Alyssa studied her with those bright, intelligent fuchsia eyes. “You can heal wounds.”

“Minor damage, yes.”

“What else can you do?”

“It’s never wise to reveal your skills without reason.” She glanced to the fallen tree. “But I can see you know that already, even if not the means to work the skills.”

Alyssa furrowed her brow. “I’m the one with the head injury. Why are you speaking in riddles?”

She nodded to the stallion. “Did you name the poor beast?"

“Yes,” Alyssa said just as the rain began to fall. “I think I'll call him Avarice.”

**O.O.O.O.O**

Kenos paced his bed chambers, beside himself with worry and rage. He'd received a raven from the west gate indicating that Alyssa had left the city for a ride in the countryside. Nothing unusual, aside from the lieutenant's brilliant observation regarding the maidservant accompanying Alyssa. Long black hair, pale skin, dark eyes. None of the servants in the palace had black hair. Most of the citizens of Olisgard had blonde or brown, occasionally red. Kenos didn't believe in coincidences. That was the Prophet in disguise, and Alyssa didn't know! She went for a ride with a murdering barbarian this morning and hadn't returned. The sun was barely a flicker on the horizon now.

_She’s been kidnapped_. He told himself that over and over, with each pace of the room. A team of soldiers had set chase, losing the trail somewhere south of Jamestown. Kenos seethed, slamming his fist on his desk. Raven would have changed clothes, masked her appearance, taken to the forests. Had she already slipped into Hudar? She had a lengthy head start on this entire production. But why take the queen? For ransom? To mock him? Did Raven kill Alyssa, leaving her body somewhere in the wilds to be picked upon by vultures?

He couldn't bear to think of his wife in such a way. Nothing but trembling fury soothed his fears. He poured another glass of wine and guzzled it empty.

A knock sounded at the door. "What?" he snapped. Captain Roberts stepped inside the room, a meek guard following. "Did you find something?"

Roberts cut his eyes to the guard, a young man with dark hair and blue eyes that looked quite uncomfortable. "We did find the girl," the captain said slowly.

Kenos leaned forward. "Girl?"

"Melissah Rossario, the queen’s attendant, your grace. She returned to the palace from the queen's errand to the market. She had a package with her."

He jerked to his feet. A clue! Something to jog his mind, something to give meaning to Alyssa's odd behavior. “What was it?”

“Grayson.” Roberts gave the guard a shove forward.

The young man cleared his throat and bowed, new armor creaking. "Ah, your grace. The lady Melissah still has the package."

He didn't have the patience for this. "And where is Melissah?"

Grayson swallowed. “Ah . . . she disappeared under my watch, your grace. Slipped through a hidden door. The servant’s tunnels. I looked for her everywhere, but she vanished. Like a ghost.”

Kenos crushed the wine glass in his hand.

_Melissah the thief_. The little runt was likely already in her old prowling grounds, somewhere in the market. Why did Alyssa have such a soft spot for her? And why was he such a fool to allow the girl to walk his halls? The same could be said of his misplaced trust in Raven. What was he thinking?

"Captain Roberts.” He let the glass tumble to the floor and inspected the cut in his palm.

"I will see that she is found.” He hesitated. “There was also a raven that arrived from Kebos." The captain set a note on the corner of his desk, then grabbed the young guard and jerked him out of the room.

The door slammed shut, taking with it the last of Keno's composure. Snatching the note, he read Khalimat’s neat script.

— _The prophet will return to Hudar, my king, to find what's left of her people. Hearing she killed Favir is most curious, however. He must have discovered something that made his continued existence impractical to her. Find out what and you will have a chance at bringing her to heel. But take caution. She is za'hava, and she is slowly going mad_ —

And she had Alyssa.

**O.O.O.O.O**

They had ridden west for another two hours, winding their way through the smaller mountain passes at the start of the Targantis range. Alyssa knew the location of all the outposts, and with her direction, Raven was able to lead them close to Norr's borders without sight of any patrolling soldiers. Tomorrow’s ride would bring them dangerously close to the Norrian army.

The rain fell in a steady pour, bone-chilling and miserable. With the last rays of light streaming over the horizon, Raven had spotted a dark recess in the rocky embankment of the pass. A cave tall enough for them to stand in and still be unable to reach the ceiling. After checking to be sure there were no bears or wolves, the two women lead their tired mounts into the shelter and tethered them near the entrance. Digging in the bags, Raven retrieved a tinderbox and made quick work of starting a fire with a bundle of dry sticks they'd collected earlier.

"Thank the gods.” Alyssa huddled by the flames, warming her hands.

Raven dragged the rest of their bags closer to the fire. "Thanking the gods? They're the ones who made it rain.” Freedom had drastically brightened her mood. Raven practically buzzed with energy. Taking two feedbags, the dark-haired woman saw to it that both mounts had a hearty dinner.

"Where are you going?" Alyssa asked as Raven made her way towards the entrance of the cave.

"To get some pine. It will burn wet. I'll only be gone a moment.” She paused in the threshold, nothing but a dark shadow on the outskirts of the light. Alyssa couldn’t help but think she seemed a wash more menacing now, as if being closer to her homeland rendered the woman ethereal. It left Alyssa a little breathless with dual emotions. "And for the love of Hudar, will you stay put?”

"Yes, your majesty," Alyssa said.

When Raven had disappeared, she sagged against the wall of the cave, completely exhausted. Numb with cold and sore in places she didn't know existed. She thought herself to be in decent riding shape, in decent physical shape in general, but the day’s adventure left her doubtful of her earlier opinion. Did Raven feel this drained? Judging by the three months of interactions with the Hudar, she doubted the woman would ever voice being uncomfortable. But she was instinctually more suited to this lifestyle than a queen. A queen that hadn’t eaten all day and was shamefully missing her favorite bottle of wine.

Glancing at the bulging saddlebags, she crawled closer and unlashed the ties. An odd little smile quirked her lips. Raven had secured an impressive collection of supplies. Otter skin boots and gloves. Feed for the horses. A small cook pot. Oats and dried meat. A few water skins. Two bedrolls. A thick bear fur blanket. Extra leather straps for the riding gear. There were two other bags she hadn't even opened yet.

Alyssa set water to boil on the fire, aiming to make some warm food. She couldn't recall the last time she'd made anything remotely edible. Or the last time she’d cooked anything at all. Oatmeal wasn’t that difficult, right?

When the water began to bubble, she moved it away from the fire, then poured in a few handfuls of oats. While they cooked, she cleared away rocks and flattened a large spot on the cave floor. She laid out the bedrolls side by side, covered them with the thick bear fur blanket and rearranged them until she was satisfied. Not too bad, for some ugly old furs in a cave.

"I never suspected you of being domestic."

Alyssa yelped and spun. Raven stooped by the fire, building it up with the large pile of wood she'd brought. How on earth did she carry all that in one trip? Regaining her poise, she crossed her arms. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

“Nothing ill, your grace.”

“If you do not cease addressing me as such I will smother you in your sleep.”

“How fortunate I don’t sleep.”

“So that’s what you were doing last night after I’d finished with you? The wild and dangerous Hudar fell asleep cuddled in my arms. Like a _kitten_.”

Raven cut her gaze to Alyssa and stirred their dinner.

She watched the woman’s unsettling shadow dancing on the wall of the cave. “Though, sometimes you’ve a look in those eyes that remind me what you’re capable of.”

“Does that frighten you?”

“A little,” she said, wary of the sudden tension in the cave. The precarious line between fear and lust. Another wave of adrenaline lit her senses, tuning them on the fascinating creature on the other side of the fur blankets. “It may be foolish, but I believe you enjoy my company too much to turn that look on me.”

“Let none say you lack wisdom. _Your grace_.”

The jab only intensified her need. Alyssa clutched the edge of the bedroll. “Raven.”

She met her gaze, and the fire burning behind those violet eyes warmed Alyssa from head to toe. The intensity of desire became unbearable.

“Come here,” she said. _“—now_.”

Raven was on her in an instant. They tore at one another’s clothing until freed, and Alyssa pulled Raven on top of her, languishing in the warmth of that smooth, strong body and her devilishly skilled lips. Rainwater dripped from Raven’s braid, trickling down Alyssa’s side in sharp, cold sensations, blissfully ignored.

In the shadow of the mountains, the Hudar witch made love to the queen of Norr as if it were their last moment alive. As if an entire nation wasn't searching for them. As if nothing mattered but their two bodies mingled in seamless perfection, warm with sweat and passion.

In a rare show of humility, the white stallion looked the other way.


	5. Chapter 5

The Hudar witch had taken the Queen of Norr hostage, stealing away into the wilds to evade capture. Word spread quickly, carried by corvid and equine, spoken in each dialect, country drawl and city slang. Every able-bodied citizen was expected to report any suspicious persons and sightings of Alyssa Norxis or Raven the witch. The standing army split, with the men most skilled at traveling the wastelands headed for Hudar. And for more than a week, not a soul laid eyes on the two missing women.

Deep within the winding city streets, Melissah lurked; the transition from palace servant to common street thief a seamless affair. The young woman did not go hungry nor without shelter. Always wary of the guard, she had a newfound aversion to them, considering they were looking for her. _That_ word had also spread quickly.

She watched a group of soldiers march down the street, all shiny bits and squeaking leather, spears held high, noses turned up. In the quiet nook between two buildings, she adjusted the pretty length of blonde hair she’d grown while attending the queen, hiding it beneath a dull grey headscarf. She glanced to a leather satchel resting on the ground beside her feet.

The queen’s package. She hadn’t opened it, despite burning curiosity. The king would stop at nothing to hunt Melissah down and pry the lumpy mystery from her hands. She vowed to deliver the package to Alyssa, no matter the cost. Slinging the bag over her shoulder, she drifted into the streets and discreetly followed the soldiers.

**O.O.O.O.O**

All of Norr’s commanding military officers gathered in the great hall of the palace, each hoping to think of a plan that would see the stolen queen returned.

“If we take the more northern passes, we’re sure to hit snow deep enough to swallow us.”

“But the Hudar are rumored to winter in the northern Targantis. What if we run into them?”

“There’s no need to take the passes, because there is no way some vagabond woman who’s spent the last twenty years in the desert will know her way across the mountains."

“Obviously she knows something. No one’s been able to catch her.”

“What if she went south?”

“Don’t be stupid—half our army’s there. Not to mention she’d been seen. It’s a bloody _desert_.”

“The ravens from the south report no sightings of the Hudar. But she’s just a vagabond woman who’s spent the last twenty years in the _desert_ , after all.”

“She could have slipped right past our sentries!”

“Right. All ten-thousand of them happened to be looking the other way when she waltzed past. No one’s that daft.”

“No one rational, you mean.”

“You think she’s insane?”

“She has to be. What woman kidnaps the queen of Norr with nothing but two horses and a stolen sword? What coherent person would possibly think that was an intelligent idea?”

“What if she’s dead? Maybe her horse fell and she tumbled down a cliff. That would be a pity, wouldn’t it?”

“And what of the queen? Did she push the witch, you think? Now she’s trotting back on that arrogant white stallion?”

“Well, it’s possible. Alyssa’s clever and tenacious.”

“What if Raven sought out aide in a foreign land? What if she’s going to try and trade the queen for clemency further east?”

“Forget east, the west is a far closer enemy. The Spire mine route has gone undisturbed into the mountains. We’re due to reach the base in a few days. There hasn’t been any sightings of what’s left of Daskis’ hoard. Is that not passing strange? Where did the Hudar go?”

“I told you, it’s rumored they winter in the north—”

“What if she’s with the hoard? What if she’s going to rally them together and storm Olisgard?”

“ _She?_ Is a seasoned general too frightened to speak what she is at council? Raven is a _witch_. A witch who stole our queen. She’s not only intelligent and dangerous, but she’s been underestimated her entire life. We need to get that priestess here—Khalimat. We need to know everything there is to know about this woman.”

“I doubt that crone will leave her temple. You know how peculiar priestess are.”

“You do raise a point. Raven was schooled by the best. She knows Khalimat, but does the priestess know the Hudar equally as well?”

“What if she knew Raven would defect? What if Khalimat sent Raven up here to create unrest in Norr?”

“Really? She’d send the key to securing Hudar to the king by way of subterfuge? She’s a priestess, not a noble. What reason would Khalimat have? She doesn’t want the crown. She’s already beyond the reach of the sovereign as it stands.”

“ _Exactly!_ She can do what she wishes—she only answers to the gods!”

“You’re seeing conspiracies everywhere, you old goat. Get your head out of your ass!”

“This is preposterous—we need to send a team to the pass at Torc Waterfall to sit and wait. If she’s headed north, it’s the only way across the river. Otherwise she’d have to cross south at the mine route. Highly unlikely, in my opinion.”

“Thankfully, no one’s asked your opinion.”

“Oh sod off, you little shite.”

King Dominick Kenos closed his eyes. For a single, uninterrupted instant everything faded to a quiet, dark place. A glimmer of hope dwelled there, flickering like a candle on a drafty windowsill. _When I open my eyes_ , _I’ll see Alyssa there. Her warm smile. That gorgeous golden hair. Those cunning eyes. My Queen._

When he did open his eyes, all that awaited was a dozen men bickering in the great hall. A tiresome sight he’d endured far too long. He glanced to the wolf-skull helm and sword on the wall above the thrones. Until so recently he thought them a worthy trophy, a courageous symbol of his conquests. Now, as yet another day drew to a close with no further information, no hope of his wife’s return, he knew that ragged Hudar garb was cursed.

“Are the men on the mine route well equipped in case of hostile engagement?”

“Of course they’re well equipped—you think I’m stupid? You think this is my first campaign?”

“I’m just pointing out a weakness. We’re spread too thin, almost a thousand miles west. At some point our luck will run out.”

“And we’ll deal with it. They’re unorganized barbarians without Daskis’ direction. Not to mention that it’s _rumored they winter in the north_.”

“Raven’s going to miss the window before the passes freeze. She’ll be lucky to make it south near the wastelands. Poor Alyssa isn’t bred to deal with that sort of environment.”

“May the gods watch over her.”

“What if Raven hasn’t even left Olisgard? What if she’s been here the whole time, watching us run around like fools?”

“I still say she’s dead.”

“ _Enough!_ ” Kenos slammed his fist on the table.

The room fell silent.

“What game the Hudar plays I cannot guess. I killed her leader, conquered her land, scattered her people. It’s within reason she seeks to repay the favor somehow.” Kenos paced the large table, hands clenched at his sides. “Will she rally what’s left of the hoard? Will the gods be merciful and strike her down? Will we be fortunate enough to find her alive, drag her wretched soul to this very room so that I may add another skull to _my cursed wall?”_ he roared. “Do not fill my halls with theories. I want truths. _Facts_. I can get gossip from the servants! Now g _et out of my sight!_  

Wordlessly, the generals exited the great hall. “Not you,” Kenos said as Captain Roberts made it to the doorway.

“Yes, your grace?”

Seating himself at the table, Kenos rubbed his temples. “What news of Melissah Rossario?”

The captain took a slow breath. “None. She’s evaded capture. We haven’t seen her once.”

“This is just perfect. What a perfect kingdom I’ve come to rule. Look— _look_ how _wonderful_ everything is!” He slapped a goblet of wine across the table, spilling the vermillion liquid over the detailed map of the known world. “My father would roll over in his grave if he heard I’d let some barbarian _woman_ steal my queen.”

“Your grace,” Roberts said. “You’ve taken Norr beyond the realm of your father’s capabilities. You and the queen have made this kingdom the most magnificent nation in this world. Do not short change yourself because you’ve run into some difficulties.”

“Difficulties?” he blurted. “Having the Hudar run off with my queen isn’t a difficulty—that’s a bloody catastrophe! What will I say to Damien Norxis? Please excuse me, my lord. I’m terribly sorry, but your daughter has been captured by Hudar. How’s the weather up in Northgate? _”_

“Nothing quite so blasé,” Roberts said. “If he doesn’t know already, which I find highly improbable, Lord Norxis will know that you didn’t freely let anyone make off with your queen.” Expression softening, he added, almost apologetically, “You love her.”

Those three words were an avalanche of emotion, tightening his throat, strangling his heart. Kenos had never felt so helpless. So hindered—so foolish. How stupid of him to fall in love with a woman from a political union. It made him weak, predictable, an easy target for even the most unorganized and poorly supplied adversaries.

Turning away, he braced against the back of his chair and stared into oblivion. “Captain Roberts, it’s moments like this that I wish you were wrong.”

“I’ve a mind to think you’re not the only one.”

**O.O.O.O.O**

Freezing wind seared Alyssa’s cheeks. She adjusted her headscarf and squinted into the blinding snow. Raven led the way across the mountain, her bay horse and worn black robes nearly invisible in the storm. They’d been on the run eleven long days, the last two spent following a goat path through the Targantis range, headed for the pass at Torc Waterfall.

Alyssa had gained a new respect for Mother Nature, having trudged through rain, sleet and snow on a seemingly endless climb. She hunched in the saddle, trying to stay close to what little body heat her stallion gave off. Her teeth chattered and the feeling had long since left her toes. It had been hours since they’d last rested, but she could barely sit up, let alone shout ahead to Raven. The Hudar was far better suited to this journey than she was.

Eventually the onslaught of snow tapered off and Alyssa blinked into the clear light of a narrow, terrifying canyon. Far in the distance, a cloud of moisture shrouded a roaring waterfall, half frozen. Their path clung to the side of a sheer rock face, and a thousand feet below, hidden beneath snow and ice, the glacial river cut through granite bedrock. Perilous didn’t even begin to cover the situation.

Dizziness overcame her. She clutched her horse’s mane. “I don’t like this.”

Raven turned in her saddle, dropping her hood to reveal a pale, wind-chapped face. “There’s a cave up ahead, just before the waterfall. It leads to the valley beyond the mountain.”

“We have to cross this monstrosity, then stumble through a cave? Is there no other way?" 

“The other passes are long frozen over. It’s this route or we turn back.”

A warm bed sounded divine. As did a hot meal, clean clothes and a barrel of wine. After so long on the road, these desires surfaced with increasing frequency. But no amount of silken sheets would make up for Raven’s absence, and heading back to Olisgard would guarantee that outcome.

Alyssa glanced to the icy river below and swallowed the lump in her throat. “Right, then. After you.”

Raven cracked a rare smile. “I didn’t know you feared heights.”

“It’s not the height. It’s the very abrupt stop.”

Raven’s smaller mount had already proven the wiser choice of horses, and the gelding twined along the tiny path without hesitation. Alyssa’s bulky stallion nervously followed, quivering like a foal.

“Awful lot of huffing back there,” Raven called. “Is that beast all right?”

“Oh, we’re fine. Just watching the life flash before our eyes, is all.” But something caught her ear over Avarice’s breathing. The clatter grew louder, until she recognized the cause: many shod hooves on stone. Looking over her shoulder, Alyssa spotted a single-file line of eight soldiers on horseback, racing along the canyon pass towards them. “Raven!”

The Hudar turned and caught sight of the men. “Stay right behind me, understood? Right behind me!” She heeled her horse and galloped for the waterfall, leaving them in the dust.

“ _Ja, ja!_ ” Alyssa urged her stallion forward, trying to keep sight of the path between his ears while everything whirled past in a horrifying blur.

“Closer!” Raven shouted, three or four lengths ahead and gaining. The roar of the waterfall became overwhelming.

Each bumpy step sent a jolt straight through her aching bones, clacked her teeth and made her eyes water. Their frantic race along the fragile trail reverberated up the steep walls. Snow and rocks tumbled down on them. Alyssa ducked, scarcely avoiding a fist-sized stone that slammed into Avarice’s shoulder. He balked and stumbled, nearly losing his footing. His sides heaved with the effort, and with each stride he lost speed.

“I know—I know you’re tired. Come on, stay with them.” She hunched low over the horse’s neck, arms stretched forward, pumping with the momentum. Her heartbeat drowned out all other sound. Adrenaline flooded her veins, clouding her thoughts with an array of fears. Falling to her death. Capture. Raven falling to her death. Raven being captured. Which would be worse? She couldn’t bear any of them.

“Alyssa!”

Up ahead, Raven’s flailing robes vanished into the rock face. One moment there, the next—gone. _What in the world?_

Just as quickly, Raven appeared on the trail again, without her horse. She gestured at something, a wide crag in the canyon wall.

The cave. Alyssa tugged hard on the reins. Her mount dropped his haunches, slipping and sliding just soon enough to make the sharp turn into a narrow opening. Avarice skirted around the bay gelding, and Alyssa dismounted before he ground to a stop. She stumbled back to the path.

Her cloak and hair whipped in the updraft of moist, freezing air from the waterfall, a mere dozen yards away. She squinted through the mist, catching the glint of steel fast approaching along the canyon trail, now close enough to recognize. The lieutenant from the western gate at Olisgard, who’d bid them both a safe days ride, lead the line of galloping horses.

Panic cinched her throat. “Raven, what are you doing? Get back here—get on your horse!”

The Hudar planted her feet on the path, those dark tattered scarves flapping around her. “Don’t move,” she said.

Fear had already cemented Alyssa in place.

Raven lifted her left hand, as if offering something to the sky. An eerie black miasma danced around her fingers, made her robes billow and hair wisp against the wind. Her shoulders quivered with an invisible burden.

The soldiers were moments away, so close the lieutenant drew his sword in preparation. He shouted above the roar of the waterfall. “Witch!”

In one smooth motion, Raven tipped her hand, palm down, and swiped towards the ground.

The entire canyon wall fell in a terrible instant, taking the lieutenant and all the king’s men with it. An avalanche of earth and snow rained into the canyon below, a cacophonous echo that _boomed_ and _crashed_ and _cracked_.

Settling snow revealed only a few paces of ground remaining in front of Raven’s feet. The path had been obliterated, leaving behind a vertical rock face with no means of traveling. With the flick of her hand, the pass at Torc Waterfall existed no longer.

“You . . .” Alyssa was hesitant to step closer, and not just for fear the ground might crumble. “You really are a witch.”

Raven turned, trembling, and stormed into the darkness of the cave.

“Wait, I didn’t—” She cursed her poor wording and followed. “I meant—”

“There’s no other way for your language to say it.” In the dim light, Raven loosened her horse’s girth and then dug through her saddlebags.

She felt awful. Raven had just killed eight men to keep them safe. The last thing she needed was criticism. Alyssa fiddled with her damp sleeve. With the adrenaline fading, her body reminded that she’d been cold far too long.

She looked back towards the waterfall. “Do all Hudar posses the skills to annihilate a mountain side?”

“No.” Steel and flint sparked, and fire illuminated the narrow cave. Raven held a pine knot torch. “This light won’t last long. We need to hurry.” She grabbed her horse’s reins and headed into the darkness.

Hurrying was the last thing she wanted to do. Sleep seemed the most prudent, but she marched after the woman, Avarice in tow. The brightness of the torch made the shadows even darker, and her view consisted of the silhouette of the backside of Raven’s horse.

“How long is this cave?”

“If I recall correctly, a few hour’s walk,” Raven said.

“And how long will the torch last?”

“Half that, at best.”

“Well. That’s better than our usual odds, isn’t it?”

Raven said nothing.

At least the cave was a touch warmer than the canyon. Maybe her clothes would dry out before they reached the other side. If they reached the other side. Alyssa stumbled over something and swore. This continued for some time—the _click-clack_ of hooves on stone, her muttered obscenities and Raven’s silence—until she couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Is there something on your mind, Raven?”

“Of course,” came her disembodied reply, echoing in the claustrophobia.

“Something specific to your abrupt mood change, likely related to the extraordinary act you carried out and my uncouth comment?”

“Not at all.”

If only Raven could appreciate her scowl. “Is being disagreeable a trait of z _a’hava_ or something exclusively Raven?”

“Couldn’t say, as I’m neither z _a’hava_ nor disagreeable.”

“You know, from my perspective, you’re literally speaking from a horse’s ass. Let that sink in whilst you brood.”

“Behold; another of my clandestine skills.”

This tactic wasn’t working. A more direct route of questioning was needed. “From what I’ve studied, z _a’hava_ are the protectors of the Hudar. Brave warriors, unmatched on horseback and capable of surviving just about anywhere. How is that not an accurate description of you?”

“I’ve done nothing brave,” Raven said.

“You’re being facetious, yes?”

“I betrayed my kind for a meddling Norrian king, eager to add fame and glory to his accomplishments. I’m not z _a’hava_ —I ruined my own people for _nothing_.”

If only they weren’t single file in this narrow passage, separated by a horse and warring perspectives. She wanted nothing more than to soothe away Raven’s self-loathing.

“ _You_ were betrayed. From the moment you were stolen from _Hudar_ and raised as a slave. Used and paraded around for the appeasement of sycophants. You survived the only way you could. Daskis’ blood is on the king’s hands, not yours.”

The glow from the torch started to fade, with no sign of light at the end of the tunnel. Alyssa put her hand out in anticipation of running into the gelding. 

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Raven said.

“You’ve had me fooled this entire time, then. Well done.”

“You betrayed your husband, king and country to follow me into the wilds. To be cold, wet, hungry and hunted by the largest army in the land. Why?”

A difficult question to answer, but one that deserved the honest truth. “I wanted to set you free but was terrified of losing you. Do you know what that’s like?”

“I do,” she said. “Like _sira kavi_.”

The exchange without words. The language of the supposedly barbaric Hudar possessed a simple, poignant euphemism for the duality of love.

Alyssa’s throat went dry. “You deserve to be loved, Raven. You deserve joy and warmth and self-worth. And if you have to burn a kingdom down to attain that, so be it. Because you deserve vengeance most of all.”

The torch dimmed, now only a faintly glowing ember somewhere ahead that did nothing to light the way. _Damn_. Had they made it half way, at least? The sudden darkness left her seeing white spots. Would they get turned around and lost forever? How ironic would that be? Avarice stepped on the back of her boot.

She stumbled, cheek scraping the freezing cold rock wall. “Oww, you great oaf. Horses have better night vision than this.” _Wait_. Colder meant closer to the surface. Her heart beat faster. “Raven? Are you still up there?”

“This way.”

Alyssa followed her voice to the left. The echo of hooves lessened, and the white spots in her vision turned into snowflakes. She clambered up a steep slope, into pale moonlight, and blinked across a valley of white-capped evergreens. Sweet gods above and below, they’d officially crossed into the land of Hudar.

Raven lingered at the mouth of the cave, fiddling with her horse’s saddle. Alyssa palmed the stoic woman’s cheek and turned her head until Raven met her gaze. “Did you hear what I said, charming dark traveller?”

She pulled Alyssa into a fierce hug, face buried in the crook of her neck. “Thank you.”

“You owe me no thanks,” she murmured in Raven’s ear. “Your heart will do.”

“Is that all?”

“And maybe a pot of warm oats, if we’ve anything left.”

“I’ll make a fire.”

“Speaking of.” A tiny light flickered far across the valley, catching Alyssa’s attention. She squinted. “Is that a camp fire?”

Raven turned, body language shifting to high alert. “I see it.”

“Could that be your people?”

“I . . . I don’t know,” she said, but the hope in Raven’s tone warmed Alyssa’s chest like a glass of red wine.


	6. Chapter 6

Morning broke over the horizon, christening the evergreens in golden light. After the previous days trials, Raven and Alyssa had bedded down at the mouth of the cave, sheltered from the coarse mountain wind.

Half asleep, Alyssa groped along the bedroll, searching for the warm body she’d grown accustomed to sleeping beside. When her hand found only a cool, empty spot, she unrolled herself from the bearskin blanket, blew a lock of hair out of her eyes and squinted into the daylight.

Like always, the bone chilling cold greeted her with a slap to the face. “Raven?”

She looked over from tending a pot on the fire. “Did you sleep?”

The Hudar always woke before her, maintaining a level of alertness that, despite the circumstances, Alyssa couldn’t quite fathom. Two weeks on the run had left her weary enough to want to enjoy sleep whenever the luxury presented itself, despite the chill.

“Not enough.” She stood and groaned as several vertebrae crackled down her back. “Winter on not, I swear, that sun rises earlier each day.”

“Lay back down and rest. We’ve the time.”

Without the lieutenant and his soldiers following, she’d meant. For now they’d escaped the king’s men. And considering how far north they’d trekked, Alyssa doubted they’d run into another company. They’d crossed into the wilds, the land of wolves and caribou and ice giants.

“No, no.” She eased onto a split log beside the fire, shrugged her coat closer and stomped her feet to get the blood flowing. “I’d rather hear your plans for today’s adventure.”

“I plan to rest. All of us, the horses included, are in dire need of it.”

Avarice and the bay gelding—whom Raven refused to name—wandered in a patch of trampled snow, churned by their efforts to find grass beneath the frozen crust. They’d slimmed during the journey, losing precious fat stored for the winter. Without the equine’s dependable persistence, they wouldn’t have made it out of Olisgard. They wouldn’t have made it across the wastelands. Up the mountain. Through the cave.

And for that, Alyssa was eternally grateful. “How much grain is left?”

“Rationed, we’ve three days. Four if we stretch it. After breakfast we’ll head down the valley and let them get a proper drink at the river. As the snow thins, they should find more grass to forage.”

“And after that, where do you plan to go?”

“If we intend on surviving, we need to head further west, to the high pastures where the Hudar winter their herds.” Raven shifted on the log. “If there are any Hudar left.”

Alyssa’s chest tightened. She turned towards the sea of trees across the valley, to where they’d seen the campfire the previous night. “I’ve a strong feeling the reports fudged the numbers to appease Kenos. Your people would not have been defeated as easily as the soldiers boasted.”

“My people.” Raven tugged at the scarves around her neck. “I’ve a strong feeling my people will argue that claim.”

“Oh, come now. Look at you! Who would deny your heritage? You’re tough as bear hide, ride like the wind, and escaped the chains of slavery to return to your birthright. I will not sit here and let you doubt. We’ve time to rest, but we’ve none for second guesses.”

“You really haven’t slept enough. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I know exactly what, you rotten thing. I’ve put up with your moroseness far too long and it’s high time you’d gotten over it.”

“ _Mmhmm_.” Raven ladled hot water into two metal mugs and handed one to Alyssa. “Have some tea.”

“What?” She took it eagerly, cupping the warmth in both hands. “I thought we’d run out?”

“We had.” Raven sipped her own mug, eyes closed. “But fortunately, spruce needles make an adequate alternative.”

Alyssa inhaled the crisp evergreen and let the hot liquid sooth through her like a healing balm. “It’s . . . is there honey in this? Where did we get honey?”

“I’ve saved it for dire times, when something sweet is needed to keep me from strangling you.”

“Oh, it’s working.” She took another sip, savoring the moment. “And I’ve enjoyed our time together, too.”

**O.O.O.O.O**

The task was remarkably simple. Each evening, Melissah snuck into the palace, navigating the servant’s tunnels in her never-ending quest for answers. Quiet as a stalking cat, she’d followed soldiers and officers, piecing together an array of information. In the days since Alyssa’s disappearance, Melissah had compounded the nation’s knowledge of the situation and deduced one very simple, overlooked fact.

It was such that she needed to explain, and in all of Norr there was only one person she trusted to listen. Dressed in her unremarkable street attire, Melissah let herself into the dimly lit shop and strode to the counter. “Santiago?”

A floorboard creaked within the recesses of shelves. “Is that my favorite little thief?”

“Unless you’ve acquired another.”

The tall, ebony-and-auburn-masked man emerged from the darkness, focusing that one discerning eye on her. “And what do I owe this pleasure?”

“I’ve something of interest to report.”

“I’m all ears, my dear.”

“The queen is with Raven the Hudar.”

Santiago snorted. “And just where have you been these past two weeks? Everyone knows that.”

“You misunderstand. Alyssa left with Raven, willingly.”

He paused. Leaned until his elbows rested on the table, bringing his solitary gaze in line with her own. “You’re sure?”

After so many years as Alyssa’s right-hand, she’d obtained an innate understanding of how the woman worked. She was present that moment Alyssa and Raven had first met unceremoniously in the hall. Most wouldn’t have paid the interaction a second glance. But she saw how Alyssa looked at Raven. She heard the words spoken—and unspoken—between them. And that moment, coupled with a number of seemingly insignificant things, painted a clear picture.

Love, however secret, could not be contained.

“Undoubtedly sure,” she said.

Santiago turned, hands folded at the small of his back, and paced around the counter to stand before her. “Then it seems the proud woman you so admire has turned a traitor. It is your civic duty to report such information to your king.”

She couldn’t quite believe what she’d just heard. “Don’t tell me you’ve found some moral high ground in the time we’ve been apart.”

“You know me too well.” His voice suggested a smile. He tilted his head. “Besides, after our last conversation, I’ve suspected this alleged kidnapping for some time now.”

That was certainly interesting. “And what lead you to that conclusion?”

Santiago tapped his mask where his nose should have been. “Let’s just say that a little lion told me our mysterious prophet has eyes for no man.”

Melissah couldn’t help but smirk. “Well, that’s one way to phrase . . . little lion?” Only one person in Norr had attained that moniker, and she was the last person Melissah would suspect of ever speaking to Santiago. “Surely you don’t mean who I think you mean?”

“I do, and you do me a grave injustice. I’ve a mind to take that as insult.”

“You’ve truly had correspondence with Priestess Khalimat?”

“What reason would I have to lie to you?”

That was an angle for information she hadn’t yet considered. The Lioness of the south had tamed the Hudar witch—if such a thing was even possible—and sent her to Olisgard. Did the priestess know what King Kenos was after? Did she know that Raven would deliver? Or had she simply let the Hudar loose to see what chaos ensued?

“What else did she say?”

“A number of things I’ve yet to decipher.”

“Now you’re lying to me.”

He chuckled. “I was mistaken. You give me too much credit. Khalimat’s as shrewd if not more so than the queen herself. Her intentions are written between the words, not in them. What information she wanted to give did not come without thought or tact.”

“Does she know what Raven is up to?”

“Heavens, no. How can you predict what a prophet will do? She can see the future, after all.”

“Raven unknowingly handed over Daskis. If she could see everything play out, why did she let that happen?”

“Quite right,” Santiago said. “Which begs the question; to what extent do these powers reach? If Alyssa went with her willingly, did Raven part the veil of time and look ahead to see how this ordeal would end? Does Raven seek to alter that future, or let the cards fall as they may?”

Melissah had pondered that herself. “Perhaps she’s seen the outcome and aims to see it through. Knowing Alyssa, once her mind is made, Raven would have no other choice.”

Santiago clasped his hands together. “Oh, how I’ve missed our conversations.”

As did she. Notorious fence or not, Santiago was like a father figure, which contributed to her unusual trust in a man most people feared. “I’m afraid you’ll have to continue missing them. I’m leaving in the morning.”

Santiago’s light mood vanished. His eye narrowed. “Leaving? For where?”

Melissah clutched the satchel slung over her shoulder. “I made a promise to deliver this package to Alyssa, and I aim to find her.”

**O.O.O.O.O**

By midday Alyssa and Raven had made it down the valley, leading their horses on a winding game trail towards the river. As hoped the snow had thinned, and they let their mounts stop to graze whenever the opportunity arose. Conversation was sparse but not strained, despite the dwindling supplies. Her belly grumbled, yet Alyssa’s moral remained high.

“It really is beautiful land, this Hudar. Beautiful and terrifying.” She swiped at a low hanging branch, launching a dusting of snow into the air. “We’ve left the comforts of civilization, after all, and I’m not ashamed to voice my concern.”

“Do you know how to hunt?” Raven asked.

“Of course. I’ve bow hunted deer.”

“With your king, in a hunting party?” she mused. “You’ve hunted for sport.”

“Yes, for sport.” The woman had earned the right to poke fun at her, especially now, when such things had higher stakes. “I’m out of my element, no need to mask your judgment.”

“What about smaller game? Have you hunted hare?”

“No, but I’ve been eyeing those squirrels. I imagine they’re delicious. I crave fresh meat more than a bath—and I’ve a fierce need for one of those.”

“As do I,” Raven said. “But unless you want a glacial swim in the river, you’ll have to settle for a sponge bath. We’ll set camp early today and I’ll show you how to make snare traps—” She froze mid-step. Her horse slid to a stop beside her, ears twitching.

Alyssa held tight to Avarice and scanned the evergreens. Nothing stirred but branches in the wind. An owl called somewhere in the trees. The hair pricked at the nape of her neck.

Raven grunted and dropped to one knee, exposing her to a second arrow that pierced her chest and knocked her to the ground. The gelding spooked and bolted down the trail.

Alyssa’s world constricted to just that image; the woman she loved splayed in the dirt. Air wouldn’t fill her lungs. She lurched towards Raven, heartbeat howling in her ears. “No— _no!_ ”

A hooded figure materialized from the trees, cloaked in tattered black robes, and aimed a knocked arrow at Alyssa’s face.

**O.O.O.O.O**

King Dominic Kenos strode into the officer’s quarters, taking stock of the men gathered around the table for supper. The most distinguished of them, Captain Roberts held an air of calm confidence that Kenos admired, if not hated.

“Well?” he snapped. “Any news?”

Roberts set down his utensils, wiped his mouth on a napkin and stood to meet the king. “I delivered the report before mealtime, your grace.”

“And I read it. There was no mention of the lieutenant leading the company to Torc Waterfall.”

“Because we have not heard from him yet,” Roberts said. After a lengthy pause, he added, “The snows are heavy. There’s a chance they were delayed. The last correspondence assured that Whelms and his men were on the Hudar’s trail, and no more than a day’s ride from the waterfall.”

“And when was that correspondence?”

Roberts cleared his throat. “Three days ago, your grace.”

“Then you see my concern. Which company is closest to Whelms?”

“Farther south, at the Spire route. Three battalions are posted along the goat paths heading into Hudar territory.”

They would never make it in time to catch the witch’s trail. In a matter of days the snows would bury all hopes of finding her or his wife. How many men did he have out looking for Alyssa? Seven, eight thousand? Why did he still feel so helpless?

He ran a hand through his unkempt hair. “What of Melissah Rossario?” Even as he asked, he knew the answer.

“Still nothing, your grace.”

That little urchin was involved somehow, and she had better hope she never crossed his path again. He would love nothing more than to squeeze her neck flat. “And what of the inquiry leading to Brother Favir’s death? Had anyone seen him?”

The captain nodded once. “Favir entered the city from the southern gate and was admitted into the grounds by the sergeant on duty. After that, he proceeded directly to the kitchen, where the cook and staff said he _acted like a right prick_ while demanding to know the whereabouts of the prophet. He then went into the garden courtyard and was found there dead several hours later, along with the guard. As far as I’ve gathered, the man was very unpleasant.”

Kenos almost laughed, reminded of the first time he’d met Favir. Clearly the position had gone to the priest’s head, and even a blind and deaf man could sense that Raven hated him. Despite everything, he couldn’t blame the witch for killing Favir. He even understood the need to kill the guard afterwards. What he didn’t understand was why Raven had taken Alyssa. She could have just as easily left Olisgard on her own, free to do as she pleased. Free to plot the demise of his kingdom. Instead, she’d taken his queen hostage, heading straight into the unbearable winter mountains.

Truly, only a mad person would undertake such a journey, especially while dragging along a wily, unwilling woman. How had Raven managed to make it to Torc waterfall with Alyssa? Surely she’d attempted escape, or at least slowed their progress. If anything, the two women made remarkable time from Olisgard to the edges of Hudar.

“I will send a fresh raven to the captain of sixth battalion,” Roberts said. “Instruct him to send a team north. Maybe they can intercept the witch when she heads for the plains beyond the mountains.”

“You think that’s where she’s headed?”

“There would be no other reason to have gone north as she did.” Roberts fiddled with his belt. “Your grace, may I speak plainly?”

His stomach gurgled. Nothing had settled with him in days. “You may.”

“You need to prepare yourself for the possibility that Alyssa won’t return. She . . .” he cleared his throat. “Well. There’s a chance she’s already dead.”

The frankness of the statement made Kenos break out into a cold sweat. He had to consider it—he was the fucking king. The fate of the kingdom fell on his shoulders, and even in this time of utter despair, he had to keep his wits about him. No matter how distasteful.

He took a breath to speak. “I’ve considered that, Roberts.”

“There’s also the possibility she doesn’t want to return.”

That caught him off guard. “ _What?_ You asked to speak plainly, not pull words from your ass!”

“I mean no disrespect,” Roberts said, palms raised in placation. “But looking at the totality of circumstances, it’s plausible. She was off that morning, you said so yourself.”

“Yes, she was upset with me for making a fool of myself at the fete! That’s no reason to . . . ” Something fell into place then. The celebration of his conquest of Hudar. He’d mocked the victory in front of Raven and Alyssa had torn into him like an angry wolf. _Would you not allow her an ounce of pride?_ she had said.

Alyssa cared for Raven.

Favir came to take Raven away. Raven killed him.

Because Raven cared for Alyssa.

“No.” He rocked a step backwards, mind reeling. “No, that isn’t—she wouldn’t.”

Roberts seemed entirely uncomfortable with this revelation. “Either way, we’ll get her back, your grace. We’ll get her back and you can ask her yourself.”

 **O.O.O.O.O**  

Alyssa’s heart plummeted into the abyss. A second cloaked figure emerged from the opposite side of the trail, covered head to toe in black robes. Then another. And another. Six in total encircled Raven, bows drawn tight. The original figure and two others remained focused on Alyssa, one close enough to see the whites of his blue eyes.

“You fucking bastards!” she bellowed, moments away from being shot herself. “She’s one of you! She’s Hudar!”

Raven gasped, sprawled in the dirt, two arrows protruding from her chest. “Alyssa, don’t.”

A tenth figure appeared from the foliage and lowered his hood, revealing close-cut black hair and tanned skin. He stalked right to Raven and loomed over her. “Move one inch and you die,” he said. “After your traitorous queen dies first.”

Alyssa blinked. Blinked again. These weren’t Hudar—they were southern Norrians. But, who? How did they get here? How on earth did they find them?

One of the figures knelt beside Raven and clasped a silver band around her wrist. She screamed and thrashed. He punched her square in the jaw. Raven took the hit and kept fighting as they roughly bound her arms behind her back. 

“Stop it, _stop!_ ” Alyssa pushed through the men and made it three strides towards Raven before the world turned to darkness.

**O.O.O.O.O**

The warm breeze blew through the open windows of Khalimat’s study, carrying the heavenly aroma of roasting meat and herbs. Winter in the desert meant pleasantly cool nights, a blessed reprieve from the scorching sun.

A servant boy approached from the hall. Khalimat looked up from the books spread across her desk. “Yes?”

“For you, priestess.” The young man handed her a piece of parchment.

She looked over the unbroken seal, noting the sigil of her temple guard, and popped the wax.

— _It is done_ —

A slow smile curved her lips. “Alert the temple adepts,” she said. “Tell them to ready the room in the cellar. My prophet is returning.”


	7. Chapter 7

Two arrows had pierced Raven’s abdomen, wedged between ribs. Each breath burned, seeming shorter than the last, robbing her of air and time. The ambushers—disguised in Hudar robes—were temple guards, there at Khalimat’s bidding. They would have but one objective, and she would not oblige them willingly.

Something snapped around her wrist. Numbness washed over her, then nausea and dizziness, all in the span of a blink. A charmed silver band, suppressing her magic, disabling her abilities. A spell of Khalimat’s creation, the band had kept her in check for over a decade, and no amount of counter magic had worked to surmount it.

Gasping, Raven lurched to her knees. A fist connected with the side of her face. Pain exploded behind her eyes, whitewashing the world. She reeled but remained upright. Spat a mouthful of blood and scanned the looming faces, trying to decipher who had punched her. He would die first.

She hissed as her arms were wrenched and bound behind her back. Tolerance for pain, like stubbornness, had kept her alive over the years. Today was no different. Tomorrow would be no different. She would endure. But gods be damned, she was tired.

“Stop it, _stop!_ ” Alyssa screamed, rushing towards her.

Panic laced through Raven like cold steel. These men wouldn’t hesitate to kill. Before she could draw a breath to shout, one of them cracked Alyssa over the head with a wooden staff. She jerked mid-stride and collapsed to the dirt.

“Bastard!” Raven snarled, thrashing against her bindings.

The man with the staff stood over Alyssa and nudged her motionless body with his boot. “Is this really the queen?”

“It is.” The leader of these men Raven knew all too well. Rhet, a tall, dark shadow. Khalimat’s most loyal temple guard. “Hopefully you didn’t crack her pretty head open.”

Her pulse pounded in her ears. Alyssa hadn’t yet stirred, but her chest continued to rise and fall. She couldn’t see her face. _Gods, let her be all right. Punish me, not her. Punish me!_

Rhet stood over Raven. “Hello, Prophet.”

She spit at him.

He chuckled and knelt to meet her gaze. “I knew I’d find you here. This is the way to the high prairies, after all. Where your people spend their winters. What’s left of them, that is.” He grabbed the shaft of one arrow and yanked it out of her chest.

She winced, expecting more pain, but he held up the arrow to show the smooth, barbless tip. One meant to incapacitate, not kill.

“I can’t have you dying. Your life belongs to Khalimat. She would be furious if anything happened to you.” He jerked the second arrow, ripping a strangled growl from her. “Your wounds will heal just nicely. They always did. You’ve the scars to prove it.”

Red haze colored the edges of the world, throbbing in time with her heart. Robbed of her magic, she suffocated in the void. “You will die,” she said, eyes half-lidded with pain and rage.

“Do you foresee it, witch? Can you part the veil without your magic?” He snatched her chin and tilted her head side to side. “No, I think not. If you truly could see the future, you wouldn’t have been caught. You’re as helpless as the rest of us.”

If only he’d loomed a little closer, she could have cracked his nose with her forehead. “We’ll see.”

“Indeed, we will.” Rhet smiled and stood. “Get her on that white horse. As much as I’d love for her to walk the entire journey, we haven’t the time. I want to make it down the mountain before nightfall.”

“What about the queen?” the guard with the staff said.

Rhet glanced at Alyssa’s still form crumpled in the dirt. “Leave her.”

“No!” Raven fought the two men who hauled her to her feet. She jerked in their grasp, trying to see Alyssa. “You can’t—the entire country’s looking for her. What will you tell them when you return with me and not her?”

“Come now, Raven. You’re smarter than that,” Rhet said. “No one knows we’re here looking for you, nor will they know you’ve returned. You’re going to a small, dark room for a very long time. And as winter drags on, the country will believe that you and Alyssa died on this godsforsaken mountain, never to be seen again.”

**O.O.O.O.O**

Kenos barreled up the steps to the north tower and shoved open the door to a simple bedchamber. Late afternoon sunlight shorn through the stained glass window, painting the walls a cool blue-green. The prophet’s room, containing just a simple bed, table and wardrobe, all scattered about. After the murder of Favir, guards had ransacked the place, looking for clues. They had found none.

Raven hadn’t brought possessions with her from the temple. And despite the work she’d done for him, he hadn’t thought to reward her with anything other than this room, overlooking the land she was stolen from. Had he been unkind to her? _Of course, you fool_. He had aimed to use her as a tool instead of respecting her as a human being. A tool now turned weapon.

He sat on the edge of the bed and rested his head in his hands. Rage had burned in his chest for weeks now, exhausting and unsatisfying. He wanted to hate Raven. To blame her for everything. Blame her for taking Alyssa. But truly, he didn’t. The blame belonged to him.

He’d set his sights on conquering the road to the Spire long ago. When his own tactics failed, he’d contacted the priestess Khalimat, requesting use of the prophet. He’d ignored her warning against invading Hudar _._ Ignored her warnings about Raven. He’d ignored Favir’s concerns of Raven living unsupervised within his walls. He’d grown arrogant and insufferable, and Raven had every right to despise him.

As did his wife.

Kenos sat up and studied the rumpled covers on the bed. How many nights had he spent away from his queen, screwing another woman? Too many to keep track. How could he begrudge Alyssa that same pleasure—especially with a woman? She had an eye for fierce things, and Raven, the Hudar witch, was nothing but that.

The throb behind his eyes grew worse. He went to the window. Far in the distance, the curved summit of Spire Mountain jutted into the sky like a demon’s claw. Precious gems, metal and glory. That’s what he’d been after, something no man was ever meant to attain. Regret and anxiety transported him back to childhood, always yearning for his father’s approval. Always inadequate.

The entire country was on high alert now, looking for a queen who more than likely didn’t want to be found. And all of it was his fault.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Cold, wet ground pressed against Alyssa’s cheek. The back of her head ached. Everything swooped and swayed as she sat up and focused on the dusky mountain trail. The last glow of sunset illuminated the sky to the west.

The cloaked figures were gone. So was Raven. And their horses.

“No.” She scrambled to her feet, unsteady, and scanned the trees in all directions. “Raven?” Her shout clouded the chilled air. “ _Raven!_ ”

Only and owl called back.

Which direction had they gone? Presumably east, back to Norr? South-east, towards the desert? She spun, locating the setting sun and oriented herself. It was too dark to find their tracks. Too dark to do anything.

Terror clenched her throat. Alone in the wilderness. Wet, cold and without supplies. Survival depended on making fire and drying her clothes. Already shivers wracked her body as she shuffled through the trees, gathering the driest kindling she could find. Sticks, twigs, moss—and pine. Pine would burn wet. If only she had a little more light she would be able to find some.

Leather creaked behind her. Alyssa spun, dropping her armful of wood.

Raven’s bay gelding stood in the gloom, still saddled and packed with the last of the supplies.

She nearly burst into tears. “Oh, here’s a good boy.” She slowly approached, relieved when he let her take his lead rope. “Such a good boy. We’re all right.” She fumbled with the saddlebags, teeth chattering. “We’ll be all right. Just let me get changed and I’ll make us a fire.”

The contents of Raven’s saddlebags included several pairs of black clothing, blessedly dry. She peeled off her damp, dirty riding clothes and slipped into the soft robes, struggling to properly adjust the ties and scarves. Raven’s scent clung to the material, an earthy evergreen she could never get enough of—and might never enjoy again.

Dizziness struck. Her eyes welled. Raven was shot— _twice_. How many hours had she’d lain unconscious in the dirt while those brutes carted Raven away? How much distance had they put between them? Raven could be dead already.

She clutched the scarves around her neck and stared at the dark sky. “Damn it all to _hell_. She’s too mean to die. She’s too mean and stubborn and fierce. Hold it together, Alyssa.”

The gelding sighed.

“You’re right.” She un-cinched the girth and pulled the saddle off his back. “You’re absolutely right. Priorities.”

She rummaged through the bags for the fire steel, sat down and lit a fire. At dawn, she’d find the Norrian’s trail. And those cretins had better pray she didn’t catch up with them.

 **O.O.O.O.O**

Since the queen’s kidnapping, security at the gates of Olisgard had tripled. No one came or went without thorough questioning from armed soldiers. Melissah assumed the king hadn’t forgotten about her or the package, but her gift at blending in hadn’t failed her yet. With her hair tied in a scarf, dirt smudged on her hands and cheeks, she appeared indistinguishable amongst the common folk who regularly left the city walls to work the fields.

She’d acquired supplies for the road, as well as an efficient means of transportation. A stout, shaggy pony. As she approached the southern gate, she nudged the pony into a brisk walk. The weight of a dozen gazes made her squirm in her skin, but she kept her nerves steady. They were just men, after all. Nothing she hadn’t seen, avoided or outsmarted before.

Four soldiers flanked the opened iron gate, while a handful of archers watched from the wall above. The closest on the ground, an old, crusty sergeant, held up a gloved hand.

“Hold it there, missy. State your name and business.”

“Rose, my lord.” She halted her pony and gestured beyond the gates. “I'm to get to my pa’s turnip patch. I’s supposed to be there by dawn to help ‘em. He’ll beat me raw if I don’t hurry.”

“That’ll serve you,” he snorted. “You’re more than a bit late. Go on, now.” He waved her through.

“Thank you, my lord.” She cued her pony forward. The next soldier in line caught her gaze. A young lad with black hair and . . . aqua eyes. A chill zipped down her spine. The soldier she’d ditched at the palace. Grayson.

His lips parted, eyes wide. “Wait.” He blocked the way, hand clutching the grip of his sheathed sword. “Wait!”

 _Damn_. Melissah swallowed the rock in her throat. She glanced to the open road beyond the gate. Would she make it out of the archer’s range in time? Likely not.

“What is it, lad?” the sergeant said.

“I know her.” Grayson frowned. “She’s . . .”

She gazed into his eyes, pleading with every fiber. She’d preyed upon his kindness before. What were the chances it’d work a second time?

“She’s what? Spit it out, boy.”

“Please,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry for any trouble, my lord. I just need to get to the fields. You understand? I need to get to the fields.”

Tense silence stretched for eons. Grayson’s brow slowly un-furrowed. He stepped back and shook his head. “Nothing, sergeant. My mistake. Carry on, miss.”

Her shoulders sagged in relief. “Thank you, my lord,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

Grayson bit his lip and nodded, trying to hide his smile. “Safe travels, miss.”

She nudged her pony into a brisk trot, heading down the muddy path towards the fields. When she glanced over her shoulder, she spotted Grayson still watching her from his post. Handsome and kind, Melissah admitted that the young man had caught her interest. If she ever made it back to Olisgard, she would have to find him again and properly thank him for this favor.

Melissah waited until the guards and the gate were hidden by the trees before she slowed her pony to a more comfortable pace and allowed herself to relax in the saddle. Her journey would take a week and she didn’t want to exhaust her shaggy friend. She’d plotted and equipped herself well, but some things were beyond the limits of the best laid plans. Santiago had told her that, but it wasn’t until she had been caught stealing bread by the Queen of Norr that the lesson had truly been learned.

 **O.O.O.O.O**

Alyssa woke before dawn, saddled her horse and waited for the sun to light the way. Not a skilled tracker by any means, but surely she could pick up the trail of ten men on horseback. Instinct suggested she head south, picking her way down the wooded ridge on foot.

By mid-morning, her stomach growled and head pounded, but she’d navigated the mountain and stumbled out of the trees, into a wide, snow-dusted valley cut in half by a dark river. In the distance, Spire Mountain jutted towards the sky, a narrow, curving granite monster. And while foreboding, the scene struck a chord in her recollection. She knew where she was. With the mountain to her south, that meant the river snaking across the valley lead east, back to Norr, before turning south at the start of the desert. Anyone wishing to head to the southern province would have to follow the river out of the valley, where they would find the Spire mine route occupied by the Norrian Army.

Alyssa shielded her eyes from the snow glare and studied the horizon. No movement. No group on horseback. Just the eerie stillness of winter as far as the eye could see. She guessed the distance across the valley to be seventy-five miles or more. A full days’ ride if she pushed it. Raven’s captors had a generous head start. They could have cleared the valley already, putting them only three days from Norr’s boarders. Time was of the essence if she intended to catch them, and the odds continued to stack against her.

“Well. At least the river hasn’t frozen.” Staying positive was paramount. Spiraling into despair would not do. Alyssa led her horse towards the water, stomping her feet to get the blood flowing. “How about a proper drink before we take chase?”

The nearest bend in the river had spent centuries eroding the bank, leaving a wide, rocky beach for Alyssa to lead her horse. He took straight to the river and drank while she filled her water skins. She secured them inside her saddlebags, and her fingertips brushed something smooth. A small glass jar of honey. She salivated at the memory of sweet clover and wildflowers. Hunger demanded she indulged. It had been too long without a decent meal, and this small handful of sustenance would relieve some of her pains. But wisdom argued the journey for Raven would only get harder. She returned the jar and pulled out an empty bag that once contained dried meat. Careful inspection revealed several crumbs that she eagerly consumed.

A shadow overhead caught her eye. High in the overcast sky, an owl circled once and glided back towards the trees.

The gelding had moved from the river to eat the dormant grass peeking from the snow along the bank. A shame she couldn’t subsist on grass.

“You need a name, beast. Raven shirked that duty, didn’t she? Let’s see. Something strong and reliable.” The wind cut across the valley, sending waves through the tall dead grasses, like an endless army with upturned spears. A field of spears . . . There was a name for that, in old Norrian. What was it? “Ah ha! Garfield.”

A sound caught her ear over the rabble of the river. Rhythmic drumming of hooves. Alyssa turned towards the ridge.

Two figures on horseback raced towards her, black robes billowing.

“Shit!” She scrambled to her horse and launched into the saddle, cueing him into a gallop. Had the men changed their mind and come back for her? Why only two? She risked a glance. The riders had gained substantial ground on her, but still too far away to identify. She urged Garfield faster. “Come on, boy. Come on!”

She steered him closer to the river, where the snow was thin and he’d have easier footing. Shorter and lithe, he was faster than Avarice, but another look back proved he wasn’t faster than the riders. What manner of horses were they on? Their speed was unbelievable! Like they rode like the wind . . . A different fear took hold. What if they were Hudar? What if they were z _a’hava?_ They’d take one look at her and skewer her dead, even if she wore Raven’s robes.

Her dread deepened when a third rider appeared up ahead, racing to intercept from the left. It only took a few seconds to realize she’d never make it past in time. _Gods be damned. Ambushed by Norrians and left for dead, only to be ambushed by Hudar. What luck._

The thunder of hooves behind grew louder. The figure in front closed in. Alyssa crouched low against her horse’s neck, scanning the path between his ears. She thought of the moment when the highwaymen had attacked her outside of Jamestown. When she willed something to stop them. Willed so strongly a tree came crashing down atop them. Alyssa focused on the rider up ahead. She was in dire need of a tree.

An enormous wave of snow and earth erupted from the ground, crashing over the rider just moments before Garfield galloped past. A strange electricity hung in the air and zipped down her spine. “Holy flaming hells!” How had she managed that? How could she will things to happen?

The other two riders had slowed, circling their third comrade wallowing in a dirty mound of snow. Surely her miraculous offense would deter them from pursuing further.

When her gaze returned forward, her heart catapulted into her throat. The two riders appeared right along side her, out of thin air. One yanked the reins from her hands, slowing her horse. The other snatched the front of her robes and jerked her out of the saddle.

She went airborne for eons and slammed into cold, wet snow. The air was punched from her lungs, leaving her stunned. Movement did not happen, no matter how badly she willed it now. All plans of escape fizzled away as the breathless seconds dragged. Perhaps her time had come. She’d made an effort to survive, hadn’t she?

A hand grabbed her shoulder and flipped her onto her back. Alyssa stared at two looming figures while stars danced in the periphery. They’d lowered their hoods and scarves, revealing pale skin, long black hair and dark eyes. One man, one woman. Both tall, slender and poised to end her sorry existence.

The man leveled a curved sword at her throat and barked an order. While the foreign words meant nothing to her, the message was still received.

Air finally reached her lungs, and Alyssa gasped, showing them her palms. “Please—don’t kill me—not your enemy—please.”

“ _Sii va dos?_ ” The man repeated with a jab of the sword. “ _Sii tu dos mavek ha lokitas_?”

Why hadn’t she made Raven teach her more of her language? She scrambled, trying to remember something in Hudari. Anything. “Uh, ah—whatsit? _Nav opa leesah_. Ah . . . _Drea makka_ . . . _sira kavi?_ ” What on earth had she said? _No speak sorry, I make exchange without words? Idiot._

The Hudar looked at one another. The woman stepped closer, middle aged, with sharp cheekbones and stern features. “You’re a long way from Norr,” she said in flawless Norrian.

Alyssa’s throat tightened. Somehow the idea of common language did not make the situation any less terrifying. She nodded, hands still raised. “Yes, I am.”

“Why are you wearing the robes of my people?”

“They belong to my companion. She’s Hudar. We were attacked on the ridge and she’s been kidnapped by a group of men. Please, I am not your enemy.”

The woman lifted her chin in a gesture she’d seen Raven use. “How did you move the earth like water?”

Alyssa glanced to the man, still holding the sword inches from her throat. She swallowed. “That . . . that I can’t explain. I was scared for my life. I thought you were coming to kill me.”

“We were.” She tilted her head, then said something to the man. They exchanged a few heated words before he sheathed his sword.

Alyssa took that as invitation to sit up. Her back had stiffened, adding to the throbbing in her head, the ache in her gut and the cold seeping into her bones. She’d never wanted a hot, soothing bath so badly before.

“You _were_ going to kill me.” She hoped the woman understood the concept of past tense.

“That’s what enemies do, isn’t it? Your people have bloodied their hands for some time now.”

It wouldn’t be prudent to inform her new friends that she was married to the man responsible for that blood. Though, she couldn’t really blame them if they did kill her. Not after Kenos’ ridiculous campaign. She had stood by and let it happen.

Alyssa licked her chapped lips. “What the king has done to your people and land is inexcusable. I’m ashamed to call myself Norrian.”

She studied Alyssa with wolf-like intensity for some time. “You spoke of _sira kavi_.”

“Yes.” Tightness in her chest made it difficult to breathe. “I know it well.”

“You’re following the men dressed as Hudar.”

A jolt of adrenaline lit her senses. “You’ve seen them? How long ago? Which way did they go? They kidnapped my—” Her love. Her partner. Her everything. Tears pricked her eyes. She was losing so much ground. “Please, just let me go. I have to find her.”

“We saw them at daybreak. They made it beyond the valley.” The woman nodded to the east. “There’s a company of soldiers stationed on either side of the river.”

What little warmth Alyssa held onto drained away, leaving her nauseated and horrified. The men would return Raven to Kenos. He’d have her tortured for days. Weeks. He’d do terrible things to the woman she loved. And Alyssa could do absolutely nothing to stop it. By the time she made it back to Olisgard—if she made it back—the damage would be irreversible.

The Hudar man said something and gestured to the west. The woman nodded. “It’s going to storm. You’re coming with us.”

She almost laughed. “Why? Just leave me here to freeze. It’s more than I deserve. Why don’t you check on your third man over in the snow? See if he wants to bash my brains in. It’s only fair.”

“No harm will come to you,” she said. “Not until the elders hear your case.”

Alyssa blinked. Case? This short conversation had demolished her understanding of the Hudar people. “I don’t understand. What case?”

The woman smiled. “The fate of your life.”


	8. Chapter 8

It took the Hudar four days to lead Alyssa west across the mountain ridge. A brutal snowstorm hit the second night, leaving them huddled in a makeshift shelter of pine trees and leather hides. The Hudar spoke sparingly, and never to Alyssa beyond grunts and shoves, despite her valiant efforts to engage them in conversation. Each attempt was met with a cool stare, though nothing Raven hadn’t prepared her for. Alyssa would not be deterred. This far from home, each moment she remained breathing was considered a triumph. The longer she lasted, the greater her chances of survival. The greater her chances of finding Raven.

Since they refused her questions, Alyssa created her own monikers for her stoic captors. Jaws, the man whom she’d buried under a wave of snow, tolerated her the least. Naturally, he received the brunt of her staring, which he dealt with by flashing his teeth. Claws, the other man, took any and every opportunity to draw his sword and wave it at her, thwarted each time by one look from the woman. She ruled, and did so with few words and even less effort. It took three days of persistent eavesdropping, but Alyssa discovered the woman’s true name. Amara.

With her wrists bound in chain, Alyssa could only sit atop her gelding while the others led her across the breathtaking scenery of this uncharted land. As they descended the far side of the mountain on the fourth day, the heavy coniferous forest blanketed with snow eventually gave way to vast, flat land as far as the eye could see. And while not warm by Olisgard’s standard, these plains were green and dotted with small creatures. Goats and sheep. Thousands of them. Alyssa had never seen so many. Was this the winter grazing lands Raven had been searching for?

The game trail they’d been following ended at the skeletal remains of an old oak tree, so wide that three men arm-to-arm couldn’t encircle it. A sigil carved into the trunk caught Alyssa’s eye; four lines intertwined. Striking, but meaningless to her.

The Hudar halted their horses beside the tree. “We’ve arrived,” Amara said.

“What?” She startled at the sudden utterance of language. This time of silence had confirmed her severe need for frequent human interaction. But there were no structures up ahead. No buildings or roads. She didn’t see a living soul anywhere that wasn’t cloven-hooved. Where were the other _Hudar_? Had they really been decimated by Kenos’ men? Her stomach groaned with hunger and panic alike.

Alyssa cleared her throat. “I was under the impression we were going somewhere with people.”

Amara tilted her head, those shrewd, dark eyes alight. “What do you see?”

“Goats. Everywhere.”

Amara said something to Jaws and Claws, and they burst into a fit of laughter.

She was positive she’d been the topic of their discussion the entirety of the trip, and it really started to wear on her. “Forgive my ignorance, but I fail to see the humor.' 

“It’s the trouble with you Norrians. You see what you expect, not what exists.”

Jaws and Claws said something to Amara, then headed off across the plains on their own. Hopefully never to return.

“Where are they going?” Alyssa said.

“To gather the elders.”

“Just when I was starting to appreciate their company.”

Her odds had improved exponentially, however. Escape seemed an option now with only one captor to contend with. Her horse was well-rested and had fed on the Hudar’s rations of grain over the past four days. Garfield had proven his worth time and time again, and she had no doubt he would continue. She could break free and head up the mountain, take the game trail back to the opposite valley. Follow the river south, towards Norr’s southern desert, where Raven’s kidnappers were headed. What were the chances the fierce Hudar woman would give chase? Could she outrun her?

“Come.” Amara nudged her horse forward, leading Alyssa’s gelding alongside. As they passed the oak tree, the horizon rippled like the surface of water, a wall of magic that solidified in a sprawling settlement of cloth and pole structures covering half the valley. Goats and sheep grazed on the outskirts, tended by shepherds in familiar black robes.

“Sweet Athena.” Was this what remained of the Hudar people? It was difficult to judge at a glance, but she guessed upwards of ten thousand. Raven would be thrilled by the sight of so many of her brethren. Alyssa’s chest ached. They had been so close. Raven had been so close to returning home.

Amara led them into the heart of the settlement, passing blacksmiths, tanners, butchers, tailors—everything found in the market of Olisgard, but with a simpler, humbled presentation. No ornate or excessive decoration. No haughty nobles strolling with noses turned up. Just people, hard-working and reserved. Two young girls, both dark haired and eyed, balanced on the posts of a stockyard fence, taking turns leaping to the next post. They paused to stare at Alyssa long enough to satisfy their curiosity before returning to their game.

“Athena,” Amara said. “Is that your lost companion?”

“No. She’s a goddess we honor in Norr.” She glanced over her shoulder, towards the mountain in the distance. She was so tired of being cold and hungry. With a functioning society at her fingertips, the thought of another moment on the run made her skin crawl. “Do your people have gods?”

“Yes. And it seems they pitied you. The valley where we found you is normally buried in snow this time of the year.” The woman was finally talking.

Alyssa sat up in the saddle and licked her chapped lips. “Why didn’t you leave me there to die? Why bring me here? What good will I do your people?”

Amara halted their horses at the entrance of a paddock and dismounted, then gestured for Alyssa to do the same.

“Well?” She swung her leg over the saddle and dropped to the ground. Her legs quivered under her own weight. “You’ve a reason, I’m sure of it.”

A stable hand took the horses and, after a short conversation with Amara, led them into the small pasture. She’d already lost Avarice; watching Garfield plod away heightened her sense of exposure. She knew the location of this hidden settlement, protected by magic. The chances of the _Hudar_ letting her go now were non-existent.

Alyssa shifted her feet, especially cold now. “I’m not leaving this place, am I?”

The woman said nothing.

“I’m dead either way. You should have killed me or left me on the mountain.”

“I could not,” she said. “The circumstances were too peculiar to overlook.”

“Those circumstances being?”

Amara held her gaze. “You’re Alyssa Norxis, queen of Norr.”

It was as if the very air vanished, leaving her frozen in breathless terror. Not only was she a Norrian held captive in Hudar, but this unsettling woman knew exactly who she was. The ruler responsible for the slaughter of Daskis and his people. Responsible for the pillaging of precious stones at The Spire. Responsible because she had done nothing to stop or change the present outcome.

Her throat had shriveled, making words difficult to voice. “How did . . .”

“We Hudar are dumb, yes? Godless barbarians?” Amara regarded her with the emotional depth of a slab of granite. “Your eyes give you away. The color of sunset in spring. In our culture, you would be _zvenya_. Touched by the gods. And that, Norrian, is why you still draw breath.” She took Alyssa’s upper arm, grip firm. “Come with me.”

What choice did she have, chained and lost in a foreign land?

Amara pulled her along the busy path as countless Hudar went about their daily lives. It took only a few moments to determine that despite her attire, Alyssa’s blonde hair and fuchsia eyes made her stand out amongst the crowd. Every other face bore dark eyes and black or brown hair. Most paused to stare at her with the same feral curiosity as the young girls had.

That attention did little to curb her apprehension. Perhaps she should pull up the hood of her robes. Perhaps she should implode. Wouldn’t that surprise them?

Amara parted the material of a large tent and pushed Alyssa into a warm, pleasant space smelling of roasted meat and rosemary. Her mouth instantly watered and stomach howled for food. Real food. _Hot_ food. Low wooden tables scatted the bare earth, occupied by a handful of feasting Hudar. Across the room, cooks prepared food, stirring massive cast iron pots over roaring fires. A tavern, perhaps? Makeshift kitchen? Whatever it was, she couldn’t bear to spend another moment inhaling the savory aroma without tasting.

Amara pointed to an empty table. “Sit.”

Alyssa sat.

“Don’t move.”

Where would she go otherwise? She nodded.

Amara headed towards the cooking food.

Alyssa rubbed her wrists, eager to be rid of the shackles. They made her feel beyond helpless, an emotion she had no use for. Her mind raced, calculating the possibilities that awaited her, none of which seemed optimal for her continued existence. By rights, she should have died several times over during this journey, and the fact she hadn’t only added to her anguish. Her chains clanked as she worried her hands beneath the table. _Touched by the gods_. Did that hold any merit? Was it a gift or curse?

A burly, bearded, shirtless man eating at an adjacent table looked over and paused mid-chew. Sweet gods, she’d never seen such a large man, and he studied her the way a fox eyed a hen. Instinct required she meet the implied threat and do so without flinching, despite her absolute desire to vanish into thin air. When she maintained his gaze long enough, he inclined his head, gesturing to her with his chin.

Alyssa returned the gesture, not entirely sure of it’s intention. Satisfied, the giant went back to his meal, and she resumed breathing in a regular fashion. That man could rightly crush her skull in one hand.

Amara set a glass on the table in front of Alyssa.

She blinked into a dark red liquid that set her heart thumping. The glass was half-empty before she realized she’d even taken it, guzzling down the sweetest wine she’d ever tasted. Flavored with oak and a sense of normalcy. She didn’t care if it were poisoned, so long as she could have another glass before death took her.

Amara sat opposite her and gestured to the giant. “You’re somewhat familiar with our ways. He deems you worthy of a seat at the table because of that.”

“Ah, well. Dominance spans all cultures.” After another swallow of wine, she examined the cup containing it; hand-blown glass of blue and green. Detailed craft of a skilled artisan. “However, I didn’t know Hudar made wine, let alone formed glass.”

The ghost of a smile graced Amara’s lips. “There’s much you don’t know.”

“I’m beginning to see that. Are you _za’hava_?”

The woman watched her in the growing silence.

“In the valley, you moved from one spot to another in the blink of an eye,” Alyssa said. “Like magic. Like one that walks the veil.”

A young man set a bowl before Alyssa containing a hearty stew of meat and potatoes and herbs. Her stomach trembled with anticipation. He topped off her wine from a beautiful glass decanter and left.

“Eat,” Amara said.

Was this to be her last meal? A kindness before she was presented to the elders as the ultimate enemy and swiftly executed? Slowly tortured?

Negotiating the shackles, she picked up the spoon, tasted a bite and nearly cried with joy. Heavenly didn’t properly describe the flavor, and it wasn’t because she’d forgone a real meal in weeks. By the fifth spoonful she’d forgotten to breathe, and panted over the bowl like a starving dog before diving back in for more. She was aware of Amara watching her, but couldn’t bring herself to care. If she died, so be it, but she would enjoy this stew. Goat with roasted peppers, tomatoes, potatoes, rosemary and wine. Glorious.

The clack of metal on wood drew Alyssa’s gaze to a sheathed dagger on the table near her wine. The dagger Raven had given her that first day on the run. Claws had taken it from her in the valley and she assumed she’d never see it again.

Alyssa wiped her mouth on the back of her sleeve and arched a brow.

“Where did you get this blade?” Amara said.

“It was given to me by my companion. Why?”

“It bears a sigil,” she pointed to the tooling on the handle, “protecting it’s owner from harm.”

It also bore the elaborate leather sheath in the likeness of the Temple of Sekhmet. It hadn’t taken much deducing on her part to confirm the previous owner as Favir, the cruel priest in charge of Raven.

“I wouldn’t put much stock in that sigil. The owner of that blade is dead.”

This caught Amara’s interest. “Did you kill them?”

“I did not.”

“Have you killed?”

Alyssa fiddled with her spoon. How to answer that question? Had people died by her will at the hands of another? Yes. Had her incompetence caused the slaying of countless lives? Yes. Had she, herself, taken a life? “Yes.”

Amara tilted her head. “But not with that dagger.”

“I willed a tree to fall. It crushed three men.”

Her gaze sharpened, but she kept her thoughts to herself. “Finish your meal. The elders are waiting.”

**O.O.O.O.O**

Atop her shaggy pony, Melissah continued her journey south across the Gentle Desert, tagging along with a caravan transporting goods. The hot, dry wind blew relentlessly, cracking her lips and burning her skin, even with her headscarf. She’d never ventured this far south before. The sheer magnitude of nothingness baking in the sun whittled away her confidence. Three more days until she’d reach Kebos, the southern province proper, home to the Citadel and Temple of Sekhmet, and she had no idea what this undertaking would bring.

Alyssa wasn’t there. Nor Raven. But instincts honed on the streets of Olisgard knew that of all the things coveted in this world, none compared to information. Santiago had let slip—purposely, of course—that Priestess Khalimat was up to something, aside from having correspondence with a master thief and fence. Melissah’s first mission would be to determine the priestess’ motivation. As the second most powerful entity in the nation, what more could she desire?

Khalimat held influence over the Citadel, Norr’s garrison for the standing army, and that power was not won by military strategy or threat. Sequestered in the middle of the desert, any man or woman would begin to lose hope without a little guidance from the amiable and persuasive Khalimat. Soldiers returning from duty on the Spire mine route would visit the great temple, weary and homesick, and they would be met with food, fine wine, and anything else they desired, be it a willing man or woman. Both, if the mood called for it. Melissah had already ascertained these things without ever having set foot in the temple. The traders of the caravan possessed loose lips once the wine was passed around. But after four days of their drunken foolishness, Melissah was eager to be rid of them.

She adjusted the shoulder bag containing the queen’s package and looked to the west. Spire Mountain dominated the horizon, intimidating even at distance. Most of Norr’s soldiers were stationed on the route stretching from the mountain to the Citadel, which seemed a sloppy move. An invading northern army could cross the Targantis mountain range in two easy days and would find Olisgard minimally guarded and ripe for the taking. Kenos must truly believe the Hudar were defeated beyond retaliation to be so bold. So brash. So stupid.

She’d never been beyond the boundaries of Norr. She’d seen maps, of course, but how accurate were they? No one really knew the Hudar lands or where they stayed. No one knew their motivations or desires. All Norrains knew was the value of the precious metals and stones at the Spire. They knew the hollow hunger of greed. And soon enough, Melissah would find out what else the people of the southern province knew.

She’d find everything out, of that she was certain.

**O.O.O.O.O**

The Hudar elders consisted of six men and five women, convened in the middle of a grassy field, sat on logs around a roaring fire. Unremarkable in appearance and dress, they could have been anyone from the settlement. One empty seat amongst them drew Alyssa’s attention. Someone was missing. Likely someone of importance, slain by Norrian hands.

Amara pointed to the ground before the fire. “Kneel.”

The command stung like a blade in Alyssa’s side, but she did so without argument. Only a fool would pick a fight with this audience. Then again, she’d done many foolish things as of late. Amara remained behind her, out of reach but within the periphery. Wetness from the grass seeped through the knees of her trousers. The wind blew through the field, tormenting the flames and sending hot ash into the air.

One elder sat forward on her stump, a silver-haired woman well past middle age who regarded Alyssa with a dark, stern gaze. “You are the queen of Norr,” she said in near perfect Norrian.

Alyssa cleared her throat. “I am.” Did all Hudar speak Norrian? Why hadn’t she bothered to learn Hudar? Regardless, she was thankful to be able to communicate with them. For whatever good it did.

“Why were you within our lands?”

“I was travelling with my companion.”

“Travelling where?”

“Here, I presume. Raven was searching for the wintering grounds. She’s Hudar.”

The elders murmured amongst themselves in low, indistinguishable sounds. The silver-haired woman continued. “Why was the queen of Norr riding across the wilds with a Hudar companion?”

Her initial response of _the queen does as she pleases_ didn’t seem prudent. She inhaled slowly and scanned the elder’s faces. Of all the terrifying things she’d faced on this journey, dealing in civil conversation was a relief. This was something she excelled in. “We were fleeing Norr together. We made it out of the mountain tunnel leading from Torc Waterfall to the forested valley beyond this one. But we were ambushed by Norrians and she was captured. They left me for dead. When I awoke I followed their trail to the river, where I was graciously welcomed by your people.”

Of all the questions that speech could elicit, the silver-haired woman asked, “Why were you fleeing Norr?”

It took her a moment to find the right words. Her wrists throbbed in the shackles, but nothing in comparison to the ache in her chest. “Raven was stolen from your desert as a small child and raised in Norr. She’s skilled in magic, and was forced by the king to divulge information about your people’s movements through the mountains. She foresaw Daskis’ location and the king sent a battalion to ambush him. I don’t know how many died, but it wasn’t her choice. She’s been a slave her whole life. Been through awful things. But she escaped from Olisgard and I . . . I wanted to help her. I wanted to run away with her. So I did. The kingdom believes she kidnapped me. They’ve chased us for weeks. Raven obliterated a mountainside to keep us safe. Now she’s captured and on her way back to Norr. The king will kill her, I’m sure of it.”

The elders regarded her with a collectively perplexed expression. “Daskis?” the silver-haired woman said.

“Yes, your ruler,” Alyssa said. The blank stares continued. “He wore a headdress hewn from a wolf skull? Rode a large grey horse that breathed fire?” She looked to Amara. “Do they not understand what I’m saying? Daskis, ruler of the Hudar.”

“We have this council, not a ruler.” Amara slowly shook her head. “There is no such person by that name or similar.”

“ _What?_ ” Surely this was a game. A test of her mental fortitude. “Whose skull helm now hangs on the wall in Olisgard? Who did the Norrian’s slaughter in the Targantis mountains, at the Yvelt pass?”

“We don’t travel that far east in the mountains,” an older, male elder said. “I don’t know what stories your people conjure, but Norrians have only killed a handful of Hudar, and they were all south, near the Spire.”

Daskis didn’t exist? Did the soldiers lie? And if . . . if Raven could foresee events, how did she see Daskis in the mountain pass, if he wasn’t real? Who did she see? What madness was this twisted tale becoming?

“But . . .” She gestured to the empty stump between the elders. “Whose seat is that, then?”

“Mine,” Amara said.

Alyssa stared into the fire while her brain crackled like hot coals. The name Daskis had been around since she was a child. His ferocious tales of terror had circulated the last twenty years. But the very people he supposedly ruled had never heard of him. Meaning Raven didn’t betray her people. Meaning Kenos didn’t conquer the Hudar. Meaning this whole ordeal was _fabricated_ —but by whom? And to what end?

Someone had seeded lies for years. Someone with unchecked power and no one to answer to. Someone playing a god.

“You made the earth move like water,” the silver-haired woman said, jerking Alyssa from her scrambling thoughts. “You claimed to have willed a tree to fall. You fled your lands and people with a Hudar companion. You wear our clothes, spoke of _sira kavi_ and _za’hava_. These facts are true, yes?”

“Yes,” she said, unsure where this headed. Likely in an unfortunate direction. “Please, I mean you no harm or ill will. I just want to find Raven. I have to find her before she gets to Olisgard. She’s running out of time. _Please_ , let me go.”

Amara said something to the others in Hudar, which stirred a rapid dialogue between four elders, none of which appeared pleased. The arguing grew heated, with raised voices and curt gestures, most of which directed at Alyssa.

“Do none of you care that one of your own people—a child—was taken?” Alyssa snapped, earning a moment of quiet. “Surely you remember her. Twenty years ago. She was five or six at the time. Somewhere in the desert, near Kebos. Kidnapped by Norrian soldiers.”

The silence stretched, filled with the crackling fire and smothering tension. None of the elders would look at her.

Alyssa turned towards Amara, searching for answers. “You know her, don’t you?”

“If what you say is true, yes, I know of whom you speak.” Her hard expression began to crumble at the edges. “Her mother was killed and the child taken.”

Alyssa’s heart clenched. Raven had never spoken of her parents, and she assumed them dead. But hearing it did not come easily. “What of her father? Is he alive?”

One of the elders barked something in Hudar and spit into the fire.

“We don’t speak his name,” Amara said. “The child was _zvenya_ , but not in a fortunate way. When the soldiers attacked and the mother was slain, we did not pursue the child.”

The task of wrapping her mind around these revelations grew increasingly difficult. “You didn’t pursue? For the love of the gods, why not? Why didn’t her father?”

“I don’t believe he knows. Nor cares. He dwells beyond the veil and we prefer he remains there.”

Alyssa took a breath to speak and paused. _Dwells beyond the veil. Zvenya, but not in a fortunate way_. Such tip-toing around a troubling notion. “He’s . . . a god?”

“ _Demon_ ,” the silver-haired woman said. “And he is not welcome here.”

A fire burned beneath her skin like none before. Alyssa lurched to her feet. “And the child you forsook? Was she not welcome? Is that why you let strangers take her away?” Amara snatched her arm before she took a step towards the elders. “They beat her. Starved her. Locked her away in the dark. _My_ people are godless barbarians, and you let them take her!" 

The elders murmured amongst themselves while she stood there trembling, sides heaving with each breath. She’d never loved as fiercely as she loved Raven, and each moment apart drove her _mad_. With grief. With rage. With hunger for vengeance.

Amara jerked her close, hands fisted in the neck of her robes, forcing Alyssa to her toes.

“And who are you to judge, _your grace_? Do you know how many of our children are stolen and enslaved in your _peaceful_ nation? You outnumber our people thirty-to-one. We can’t storm into your lands and take back what’s ours. We can scarcely keep your people away! Now you’ve pillaged the ore and stone deposits at the Spire—” She shook Alyssa, _hard_. “What do you plan to take next? Our livestock? Timber? The clothes off our backs?”

The chill that overtook her had nothing to do with the winter wind. Nor the robes cutting into her throat. Nor the possibility of death. How could she be so bloody _stupid_ — _selfish_ — _weak_ to let her kingdom commit such atrocities? Why had she let Kenos, when all she needed to change his mind was a simple conversation? Why did she only realize this horror now, when personally invested? What a shit queen she’d been. What a terrible companion. What an awful creature.

“You can,” Alyssa said.

Amara blinked. “What?”

“You can take back what’s yours.”

Her grip eased from her throat, but the anger in Amara’s gaze remained. “How?”

“Someone rules that kingdom, and it’s not the king or queen. Kenos is blind to it. His army is spread thin. The people are self-absorbed and gutless. Norr is ripe to be conquered.”

“You’ve the mind and tongue of a sovereign,” the silver-haired woman said. “A wolf guarding sheep. What tales you spin, I wonder.”

“I’m guilty of many things, and I understand your outrage. I would kill me, were our places reversed. I would kill me publically. Slowly. For all to see. I would send pieces of me back to Olisgard, wrapped in pretty little packages. And were our places reversed, I would not stand by and let Raven be taken again. I would not let her die. Not after everything she’s overcome, and certainly not at the hands of _Norrians_.”

The wind howled through the field. Amara’s gaze bore into her like an avalanche.

Alyssa lifted her chin and stared right back. “I will give you Olisgard. Kebos. Northgate. I will give you Norr, should you desire. Help me free Raven and I will burn that wretched kingdom to the ground.”


	9. Chapter 9

Over two weeks, tied to the great white stallion, Raven was lead to the desert. From the mountain valley the temple guards followed the winding river south at an ambitious pace. The charmed silver band cut off her tie to the veil, preventing her from healing the two arrow wounds to her chest. And while they had closed over with time, they burned with each breath, each bump of the ride. 

Once they’d neared Norr’s boarders, her captors shed their black robes, donning the white and red colors of the Temple of Sekhmet. Rhet took Raven’s Hudar clothes, forcing her to wear tan servants’ garb. The reason soon became clear. Their path to Kebos teemed with soldiers, all looking for the queen and Hudar witch.

On several occasions she’d contemplated shouting to the soldiers, spoiling Rhet’s plan. Surely the temple guards would be overrun. Surely the soldiers would then promptly deliver her to Kenos, and likely a slow, agonizing execution. But death would not help her find Alyssa, and that was her sole purpose. She would allow herself to be returned to Khalimat, because no matter her crimes, the high priestess would not kill her. As Favir had said on the brink of death, Raven was too precious to waste.

Kebos stood in the distance like a dreadful mirage. She’d always hated the heat, and returning to it after experiencing Hudar only added to the oppressive aura of this desert hell. Avarice did not appreciate the climate change either. He sweated and shuffled behind the guard’s horses like a delirious old nag. He deserved a lifetime of rest after the journey he’d endured.

“You’ve done well, beast.” She scratched under his mane as far as her chains would allow. “I won’t forget it.”

The sun had set on the sixteenth day by the time their party reached the stables at the Temple of Sekhment. Two men yanked her from the saddle and escorted her none too gently inside. Everything hurt. She hadn’t slept in days. She didn’t care what happened to herself—nothing would make up for causing this tragedy in Alyssa’s life. Nothing except vengeance.

Rhet marched them through the empty temple proper, past the towering basalt statue of Sekhmet and an alarming sense of déjà vu. Like the very first time she’d been brought here, bound, beaten and enslaved. The utter panic awakened a reserve of strength. She planted her feet, twisted at the hips and sent her elbow sailing into the guard’s face.

He grunted and staggered. She spun away from the second guard and delivered a swift kick to his knee before pain exploded behind her eyes. She crashed to the floor, dazed.

Rhet pressed the end of his staff to her chest. “You’re being pathetic, witch. Don’t you dare disgrace this temple with such weakness.” He jabbed her once, twice. “Get up. On your feet.”

The guards wrenched her upright and dragged her the rest of the way to Khalimat’s private chambers. A wide, lavish room lit with braziers and a central fire pit. Sweet jasmine and incense wafted in the warm breeze through the open courtyard windows. Beside the fire, Khalimat perched on the edge of her chaise, the embodiment of a lioness in pristine white robes.

The guards forced Raven down to the stone floor and took their leave. She sat back on her heels, trying to ease the pressure off her aching knees. Rhet remained beside her, hands folded atop his staff. “She’s likely to fight, priestess. Shall I take her to the cellar?”

Khalimat’s dark gaze ran over her, cataloging, contemplating. “Not yet. She and I first need to reacquaint.”

If she wasn’t so tired, Raven would have laughed.

“Understood,” he said. “Will you need anything else, priestess?”

She flicked her fingers towards the door. “You may go. See that your men are fed and well-tended tonight.”

Rhet bowed and left. The arrogant prick.

“I do hope you’ve enjoyed your freedom,” Khalimat said.

The crushing weight of exhaustion kept her on the ground, but did nothing to temper her loathing. Liberty had lifted the fog, and now the world shown crystal clear. This priestess had no real power over her, charmed silver band aside.

She rolled her shoulders, trying to loosen sore muscles. “I’ve enjoyed many things while free of you.”

Khalimat stood, gold bracelets clinking. She stooped to grab Raven’s jaw and jerked her head backwards until she met the old woman’s gaze. “You’ve forgotten your place, Hudar. You are my creature. You shall always be mine, but I will beat you within a breath of death if you speak to me like that again.”

“I hope you’ve rested. It will take effort.”

Her grip tightened. “Sharp words with no follow through? You’re disappointing.”

“On the contrary, I’m quite satisfied” The sharp angle strained her neck, but didn’t deter her snark. “Say, isn’t it almost Longest Night? Tell me, how are you to part the veil for the celebration? Your precious city of acolytes will discover their high priestess has lost her touch.”

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll think of something.” She clenched Raven’s jaw tighter, gave her a hard shake and let go. “I must admit, I’m impressed how far you ran with that queen slowing you down.”

The subject change stalled her momentum. How much did Khalimat really know of the situation regarding Alyssa? How much did anyone? Had Favir gotten word out about their relations before he confronted her?

Khalimat retrieved a wine glass from the side table and eased onto the chaise. “Do you know why I sent you to Olisgard?”

She knew. The priestess needed no favor from Kenos. She existed beyond the reach of the monarchy, living in a scorching land of sand and sun and easily swayed citizens. Khalimat enjoyed playing a god. Why indulge her?

Contemptuous silence had always worked in the past.

“I sent you there to gain Kenos’ trust. And in that, you succeeded.” She sipped from the glass, set it down and resumed her casual pose, just as likely to fall asleep or deliver a killing blow. “That is, until you slayed Favir, stole the queen and led half of Norr on a wild chase into Hudar.”

“Not the victory you’d hoped?”

“Actually, you made Kenos look a fool, a far more pleasing result.”

“If that was your plan all along, I could’ve accomplished it without destroying my people.”

“No, this effort required a precise series of events that came about marvelously,” she said. “And don’t be so dramatic. You didn’t destroy your people.”

“Does _betrayed_ suit your liking, oh great and high priestess?”

“My poor jackal-child, still as wild as the day you were brought to me. I’ve missed these sparing matches.”

“Oh?” Raven lifted her bound hands. “Remove my band and chains, and we shall spar in earnest.”

Khalimat tilted her head, gold adornments in her long braids shimmering in the light. “She’s dead, you know. Your queen.”

The air left her lungs. It took everything she had to remain upright, frozen in stoicism. It was a possibility she’d considered for some time, but hearing it aloud made it that much harder to bear.

“A shame, really. Alyssa Norxis was a fascinating, capable woman. I can’t begrudge your tastes, only your timing. I would’ve liked to see her rule Norr without a man’s interference.”

She licked her chapped lips. Swallowed. “You don’t know for sure she’s dead. Rhet left her unconscious on the mountain.”

“Come now, Raven. Over two weeks stranded with no horse, no food, and winter bearing down? If she made it through the night, it was only a matter of time before she froze to death or the _za’hava_ found her. And what do you think they did with a Norrian?” She arched a brow. “Hmm? What say you, Hudar?”

In truth, she didn’t know. Childhood memories of her homeland had slowly faded over the years, replaced with a Norrian version of her heritage. What little language she’d retained, anchored with fierce instincts, painted a bleak picture of Alyssa’s fate.

“Don’t worry,” Khalimat said. “You’ll have plenty of time to think on it where you’re going.”

**O.O.O.O.O**

Melissah squinted, shielding her eyes from the mid-day sun. Kebos shimmered on the horizon, a sprawling stone city that rivaled Olisgard. While it lacked the high walls of the capital, Kebos was not defenseless. The citadel towered in the backdrop, a stone fortress housing the standing army’s training facility and supplies. Five-thousand soldiers called it home, though from appearances, it was anything but homey. She had a feeling she’d be here quite a while.

It took a day of wandering the streets before she’d located a simple room for rent, and another to get her bearings. Like all cities, the central market fed and fueled it’s citizens with all manner of goods, services and most importantly: information. And a month of listening at doors, sneaking looks at messages, and perusing unattended businesses hadn’t turned up a single scrap of useful anything—other than discovering the Temple of Sekhmet was more closely guarded than the palace.

It took another week to survey the temple. Three-tiers of granite, with a pillar-lined entrance protected by temple guards. Every entryway into the building had no less than four men, adorned in the white and red robes of Sekhmet and armed with short swords. Patrons were welcome inside from sunrise to sunset, but always escorted by an adept or priest. She aimed to test that theory.

Both attempts at sneaking off were thwarted by an over-attentive priestess. Her initial tour began in the main chamber, housing an enormous basalt statue of Sekhmet surrounded by fire. Several halls lead away from the statue, to rooms for meditation, doctoring, and desires of the flesh. Enticing, but not likely to turn up Alyssa. Certainly a structure as vast and intricate as this had secret chambers, but none caught her eye. Yet.

At the rear of the temple, a modest stone and timber stable served as shelter for patrons’ horses, and appeared the least guarded. Melissah had only spotted a guard there five times in ten days, suggesting they left the guarding to the three young stable boys. This development made the stables an appealing point of unsupervised entry into the temple. And on this quest, no stone was too small to overturn.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Alyssa bundled her robes, covered her head with scarves, and began her daily walk around the settlement. A group of children had taken to following her, stalking in the distance. She’d indulge them, pausing to glance over her shoulder, pretending not to see when they dove and leapt for cover. Today, the January wind howled down the valley, dusting everything in white, making it difficult for the little runts to keep up with her pace.

Life in Hudar was not what Alyssa had expected. And considering she hadn’t expected to survive very long once separated from Raven, the passing weeks had accumulated as quickly as the snow on the mountains.

The elders considered her offer to help invade Norr for sometime. Half were convinced it was unwise, while the remaining half ruminated over the potential of such an accomplishment. All the while, the snow grew deeper, trapping the settlement in the valley until the thaw. No decision would be made until then.

She thought of Raven nearly every waking moment. Where she was. How she faired. If she was still alive. Hope was never something she’d put much stock in, but these days she found herself hoping beyond reason.

Alyssa had been given her own _shador_ , the traditional hide-and-pole tent, on a plot of land near the central market. Her position in the community was never discussed, but after being shown her new home and where her horse could graze, it was clear she was no longer a captive. Her neighbors didn’t seem too pleased to have a Norrian nearby, but aside from long, cold stares, they left her alone. How could she blame them? She was the enemy, transplanted into their settlement, and the irony of the situation was not lost on her.

Amara visited her often, bringing clothing, candles, and dialogue. Alyssa craved conversation, desperately trying to store as much information and language possible. Amara patiently repeated phrases in Hudari over and over again. They traded stories from their experiences living in different worlds, debated philosophical quandaries and military strategy.

She learned this was the largest assemblage of Hudar in their known history. Normally spilt into hundreds of small tribes, it wasn’t until Norrians invaded their lands decades ago that the Hudar felt safer in numbers. After soldiers flooded the southern plains surrounding the Spire, the Hudar abandoned their desert and pushed further north. They’d altered their social structure, becoming more inclusive and cohesive. Their _za’hava_ trained together, becoming an army instead of lone wolf warriors.

Norr’s rumor of the ruler Daskis, while false, was not without some fact. It was because of Norr that the Hudar united, but unlike Norr’s monarchy, the Hudar had chosen a wiser, more diplomatic approach to leadership. A council of twelve appointed elders, who listened to their people and voted on courses of action. It seemed a far more ethical approach to sovereignty, and likely the only reason Alyssa wasn’t killed on the spot—aside from her uniquely colored eyes.

A gust of wind cut across the rooftops, cutting Alyssa straight to the bone. She’d acclimated somewhat to the cold, but nothing like the Hudar who walked around unfazed. Her destination was one of the few semi-permanent structures in the settlement, built of logs and stone. A blacksmith ran by a fellow Norrian speaker named Jarl. The very same man she’d known as Claws on the mountain.

She slipped inside the blissfully warm shop, shouldered the door closed against the wind and shook out her robes. A great horned owl crooned on it’s roost in the corner, watching her with giant, unblinking eyes.

“ _Navito laktos_ ,” she said. _Pleasant weather_ in Hudari.

“ _Navita_ ,” Jarl corrected. Of typical Hudar physique, he stood well over six feet, with wide shoulders and a head of wild black hair. He hunched at the oven, heating a strip of metal in the white-orange flames. “ _Navito_ means fish. And you haven’t seen anything yet. Winter’s just begun.”

“I don’t doubt that.” She eased along racks of swords, axes, and tools. Barrels of scrap iron and quenching oil. Jarl supplied most of the _za’hava_ warriors with arrow tips and short, curved swords. His impeccable craftsmanship had slain countless Norrians during the skirmishes at the Spire, and seeing the simple beginnings of those weapons made the Hudar’s victories all the more impressive.

“What are you making?”

“This will be a skinning knife once I’m finished.” He moved the strip to his anvil, hefted his hammer and commenced pounding the molten metal. “Why are you pestering me today?”

“I have a favor to ask.”

“Interesting.” He’d folded the strip over itself and returned it to the oven, then wiped the sweat from his brow and settled on a stool beside the fire. “What is it?”

“You’re _za’hava_ , yes?”

He nodded suspiciously. “Why?”

“I need to send a message to Olisgard.”

Jarl snorted. “And you think I can cross the buried mountains and deliver this message?”

“No. But your feathered friend can. I saw him following me up on the mountain. That’s how you and Amara knew I was there. He’s your scout.”

“Perhaps he’s losing his touch, then.” He leveled the hammer towards her. “You know, we call you Jinx for a reason. Are you having second thoughts about your offer? Hoping to summon a rescue party?”

There was only one thing she hoped for.

“Please, Jarl.” Tightness in her throat made the words impossibly fragile. “I need to know if Raven’s still alive. It won’t change my mind either way, but I need to know.”

The Hudar set down his hammer. He glanced to the owl, hard expression softening.

**O.O.O.O.O**

“Your grace?”

Kenos looked up from his desk in near darkness. The fire in his hearth had burned down to embers. How long had he been sitting? What had he been doing?

He pressed the heel of his palms into his eyes and groaned. “What is it, Captain?”

“This just came for you.” Roberts handed him a tiny scroll, then went to stoke the fire back to life. “You missed dinner again. Shall I have the kitchens bring you something?”

“No, I’m fine.” He’d subsided on wine, rage and guilt these past weeks. Food wouldn’t settle. “Thank you for checking, Roberts.”

“Of course, your grace.” He dropped a fresh log into the hearth, awakening flames.

But the brightening room did little to soothe Kenos. He’d grown weary of messages. No news. Bad news. All the same. The unknown haunted him without mercy. He inspected his handwritten name on the scroll and paused on the intact seal in black ink, bearing an unfamiliar sigil. He unrolled the message.

 _Your queen belongs to me._

His heart skipped three beats. “Where is this from?” He leapt to his feet and shoved the note into the captain’s hands. “ _Where?_ ”

He read the message and frowned. “The outpost said the raven came from the east.”

“East? From Marsinkos? Duul?”

Roberts shook his head. “I’ve never seen this sigil. Neither kingdom has ever sent something like this.”

Nor had either kingdom ever given him trouble. Duul provided grains. Marsinkos traded in spices and fine linens. Why would they claim to have Alyssa? Did this mean she really was kidnapped? Why would the Hudar witch have taken her east? None of this made sense—and the whole ordeal hadn’t made sense since inception.

“This feels off, Roberts. Something foul.” He paced around his desk, gnawing the inside of his cheek. “How many soldiers are left in Olisgard?”

“One hundred and three in first company, plus fifty sentries and a few dozen recruits. We’re down one guard, killed by the witch.”

“And Northgate?”

“Fourth battalion still has around three-hundred. A company of fifty were diverted into northern Hudar. They met up with Lieutenant Whelms, who had tracked the queen and witch from the western gate. Whelms and twenty men never returned.”

Too many casualties for chasing one Hudar. Especially if she wasn’t working alone. His first instinct was to push out a company to the east as precaution, but he’d run his men thin enough already. Three-quarters of Norr’s army currently resided in the south, and he dare not pull them back from the Spire route. After the anguish and blood spilt in conquest, that ground could not be lost.

He stormed to the hearth, planted both hands on the mantle and glared into the fire. “Get the rest of fourth battalion back to Northgate. Notify the wall sentries. I want every person coming and going from this city inspected and questioned.”

“And the message, your grace?”

Flames lapped around the fresh log, charring the pale wood black. “Send a reply back demanding proof,” he said. “I’ve been a fool, but no more.”

**O.O.O.O.O**

Nothing aided a well-motivated sleuth quite like darkness. Melissah crouched in the shadows beyond the temple stables, waiting for the stable hands to finish their evening chores.

The three young boys shuffled down the road, huddled in the soft glow of their lantern. She waited until they’d made it out of earshot before she darted across the street and slipped into the unlit stables. The warm, familiar scent of horses and hay greeted her. She picked her way along the aisle, one hand on the wooden stall fronts, petting the occasional horse snout as she passed.

A beam of moonlight painted a large shape in her path, forcing her to hug the adjacent stall to remain out of sight. As she took a step, a large white head appeared over the door, startling her. The horse sniffed. Snorted. Tugged on her headscarf with curious lips.

“ _Psst_ , quit that.” She shooed, but the horse wasn’t deterred. She placed her hand on it’s nose and felt up across a broad head. Far larger than any thin-boned southern horse. This beast was massive. She leaned over the stall door to get a look of the rest of him, and even in the darkness, recognition struck like a bolt of lightning. “Holy mother of hell.”

The white stallion Alyssa rode the day she and Raven fled Olisgard! What was he doing here? More importantly, where was Alyssa? This raised far more alarming questions—

“Goodevening, Rose.”

 _Sweet Gods!_ She nearly fell over. Scrambling to the cover of shadows, she tried to hear over her thundering heartbeat. It took a few moments for the panic to clear. Only one person had ever called her by that name.

“Just what are you up to in the dark?” Santiago’s voice drifted from above.

Where was he? The hayloft? She couldn’t see him. And what in seven hells was he doing in Kebos? “I shall ask you the same.”

“Clearly I’m sneaking.” The creak of wood drew her gaze left. In the dim shadows she could just make out a figure descending from above. “And doing a better job of it than you.” He appeared at the bottom of the steps, cloaked in black.

“Why are you here?”

“Something suggested I might find answers in this godforsaken oven. Trouble is, I’m not sure I’ve asked the right questions.”

This wasn’t the time for riddles. “What have you asked?”

“Not _what_ , my dear. But _how_. It’s difficult conversing in an unfamiliar language.”

“You’re maddening, you know that?” She crossed the aisle and returned to the white stallion’s stall. “I’ve more direct answers. This is the stallion the queen rode out of Olisgard.”

Santiago eased closer, passing through a beam of light, highlighting his one eye in the sea of black. “You’re certain?”

“Without doubt. See that brand on his flank? Northern bred. See how lean he is? The scars on his legs? He’s been on quite the journey. Why would Alyssa’s horse be here if she is not? Something’s amiss in this city, Santiago.”

He tilted his head. “It’s peculiar her horse is here, yes. And I agree, something’s amiss. However, it’s not surprising the queen isn’t here. Not yet, at least.”

“What?” She blinked a few times too many, as if the action would somehow clarify the words she’d just heard. “What do you mean, not yet? Why would she come here? Do you know where she is?”

“This isn’t the place for this conversation.” He took her hand and pressed a note to her palm. “Finish your sneaking, then come find me.” He retreated into the shadows, and before she could protest, Santiago had vanished.

Like smoke in the wind.

She clutched the folded parchment and stared at the white stallion, wishing for all the world that he could speak and she could understand. Instead, he nipped at her shirt and nickered.


	10. Chapter 10

Immersion in darkness was Khalimat’s favorite torment for Raven. It took four men to drag her into the bowels of the temple, to a small, familiar cell. Located at the end of a hallway, where no light or sound could reach. Three paces square, with a door of iron bars. No cot. No blanket or scrap of cloth. Just a hard stone floor and a bucket to piss in. A prison easily thwarted, if she had access to her gifts. The bars would bend. Stone, crumble. The temple would collapse with one gesture.

If only.

She’d contemplated breaking her thumb in an attempt to remove the silver band on her wrist. It was something she’d tried as a child, which only resulted in an unusable hand until Khalimat had her personal doctor set the bones to heal. Whatever sort of curse that silver housed would not budge without the proper invocation. She was left in the darkness with her thoughts.

Oh, the paradox of a prophet not knowing her own future.

She couldn’t foresee events, not the way rumors told. Not without a tangible focus on the person or thing sought—and not without cost. Her skill required projecting her mind into the veil, where she’d search for a connection to the desired item. Once established, she’d receive glimpses of their thoughts or memories, usually enough to locate them. But these undertakings took effort and time, and each moment spent in the veil took something from her, leaving behind the itchy, terrifying sensation of falling in a dream. Falling under another’s control. Someone she dare not name. She hated looking—hated _seeing_. Hated the feelings and desires resulting from her time in the veil. Slow, consuming madness awaited her.

But she would have risked it all to catch a glimpse of Alyssa.

**O.O.O.O.O**

A break in the weather allowed sunlight to filter through the sparse clouds, warming Alyssa’s face for the first time in weeks. She’d spent the better part of the day perched on a fencepost, watching the skies above the mountain until Amara found her.

“I didn’t see you at dinner last night.” She lowered her hood and leaned against the fence. “Or breakfast.”

“I wasn’t hungry.”

“What’s troubling you?”

The elder was partial to directness, so why not oblige? “How long would it take your _za’hava_ to reach Olisgard if they were to leave today?”

“You’re eager for battle?”

“Aren’t you?”

“I’m never eager to kill.”

Alyssa’s desire and sense of urgency stemmed from a visceral need. She didn’t want violence, but she would slaughter anyone who stood in her way to Raven. Maybe that was selfish. Maybe soliciting the Hudar to help her destroy a nation for one woman’s sake was small-minded. Was there enough redemption at stake for these people to risk everything on her word? She didn’t know.

She picked at a knot on the fence. “Do you think my plan is foolish?”

“I think it’s ambitious.” Amara looked to the mountain. “And to answer your question, that journey has never been attempted in winter.”

She knew this. Everyone in Norr knew the Targantis were impenetrable when covered in snow, and difficult in the best of conditions. “What about in summer?”

“The fastest route is a more southern pass. It takes a week to reach Norr’s borders, then another two days north to Olisgard.”

“Nine days? That’s it? It took Raven and I longer just to make it to the valley where you found me. It was another four to get here.”

Amara snorted. “Neither of you had any real idea where you were going. I’m impressed you made it as far as you did. Raven had never seen those mountains. Her tribe stayed in the deserts.”

Raven had said she didn’t know what she was doing. Perhaps it wasn’t humility after all. “If anything, it’s proof of her homing instinct. She delivered us to Hudar. I did nothing but slow her down.”

“You contributed to your combined success.”

“I really didn’t. I knocked over a tree and complained about being cold.”

Amara smirked. “This skill you possess. You don’t know how to harness it, do you?”

“I don’t even know what it is. Norrians aren’t known for magic.”

She chuckled.

“Why so amused?”

“You’ve Hudar in your lineage. Enough to give you influence over the veil. It would also account for your fuchsia eyes.”

She’d never considered such a thing. Her family lines hailed from the north, but with how expansive a territory covered by the Hudar, it wasn’t implausible.

“I can’t say I’m surprised. It seems us Norrians have a way of inserting ourselves just about anywhere. Why wouldn’t we have crossed a few Hudar bloodlines along the way?”

“And you’re fortunate enough to have retained the proper traits. It’s a powerful weapon when properly used.”

“Are you offering assistance?”

She shrugged. “For a price.”

Alyssa laughed. “You would hold your own in any Norrian court. Besides, am I not already indebted to you for the rest of my life?”

“I could never hold your life over you. It belongs to another. _Sira kavi_ only ends with death. But, I will accept a favor.”

The exchange without words. Had it ended? Was Raven still alive? Her throat tightened. She desperately needed to know. “A favor owed to you is more than fair. When can we begin?”

“After you’ve eaten something, Jinx. You need to be calm and sated to learn.”

“Does the word _jinx_ mean something different in Hudari? Because it means bad luck in Norrian.”

“Bad luck?”

“Yes. To put evil upon someone. Do you think I’m a curse? Is that why everyone’s been snickering when I’m around?”

“It does not translate well to your tongue.”

“No, none of that nonsense. It means something. Tell me.”

Amara chewed her lip. “You’ve seen young cats, yes? They appear harmless, but are actually little balls of chaos, capable of untold destruction. Jinx is that.”

She blinked a few times. “I’m a kitten?”

“Kitten, yes. That’s the word.”

“Well. I’ve been called worse.” Movement up above caught her eye. “And what have we here?”

An owl swooped down and landed on the fence between them, flapping his massive wings until he settled. It had been three days since his departure, and if he’d located his intended destination, he’d made record time travelling the winter skies.

“That’s Jarl’s bird,” Amara said.

“Indeed, it is.” She removed the small leather pouch secured to his legs.

Santiago had proven his worth over the years. Initially, their relationship revolved around the money she’d provided him in exchange for Melissah’s safety. She’d taken his best thief, and he’d felt slighted. But as time went on, their mutual fondness for Melissah solidified a pact between them. As queen, she ensured his shady facilities were left alone, and he provided her with all manner of information.

Even now. She unrolled the tiny scroll within the pouch, displaying a message written in Hudari.

_Your thief is safe. The lion has your traveller hidden, wrapped in silver._

Khalimat. She _knew_ those men who ambushed them were from Kebos! That priestess wouldn’t let Raven escape. But the most alarming notion of this message was also enlightening. Khalimat had taken Raven without alerting anyone. Meaning Kenos still believed her to be on the run. Meaning Khalimat was up to something. She’d press Santiago further in the next message. Thankfully Melissah was with her old mentor, easing some of Alyssa’s anxiety. Together they’d remain out of harm’s way. And together they were twice as capable and effective.

The owl spread his wings and took to the sky again, headed into the settlement. She watched him fly away and clenched the note in her fist. “What sort of magic can bind a Hudar’s gifts?”

Amara’s brows furrowed. “Bind?”

“Keep them from using magic. The high priestess in Kebos has kept Raven captive since she was a child. Khalimat used a charmed silver band around Raven’s wrist that prevented the use of her skills. She’s held there now with that same band, likely in a cell deep within a stone temple.”

The elder shook her head. “I’ve never heard of such. You’re sure it works?”

“I watched Raven obliterate a mountain side with the flick of her fingers. If she had access to the veil she wouldn’t be anyone’s captive. She’s at the mercy of a cruel, power-hungry priestess.”

“Perhaps if I saw this band I could do something with it, otherwise I’ve nothing helpful to offer.”

“How long do you think it will take for me to master a connection with the veil?” She’d seen the Norrian army’s capabilities during her reign. If she were to be of any assistance to the Hudar, she needed all the practice she could get.

“A lifetime.” Amara pulled up her hood. “But first, the elders wish to speak with you.”

**O.O.O.O.O**

The note Santiago had given Melissah contained an address in the seedier neighborhood of Kebos. It seemed that no matter where he went, the old fence always found his place in the shadows. She knocked on the door and was ushered into an empty brick room furnished with a rickety table and two stools.

“Please, sit.” He gestured and then settled at the table. “Did you sneak to your satisfaction?”

“No, I did not.” She sat on the edge of the stool. “Not long after you left a guard came through the stables with a woman and they took up residence in one of the stalls. I thought it’d be a short affair, but I underestimated their stamina.”

“To each their own,” he said. “Now, I imagine you have questions.”

“I’ll start with what the hell did you mean about Alyssa?”

“I’ve received several messages from her. She’s alive.”

A weight lifted from her chest, making it easier to breathe. She knew that woman was too stubborn to die. “Is she all right? Where is she?”

“She seems well. She hasn’t said where, but I believe she’s deep in Hudar.”

That wasn’t surprising. It accounted for the complete lack of sightings of either woman. “Is Raven with her?”

He shook his head. “Raven was captured in the mountains by Norrians some time ago.”

“ _What?_ ” A chill shot down her spine. Perhaps . . . the white stallion in the temple stables had carried Raven? Unwillingly, of course. She’d never return to Khalimat if given the choice. Melissah wet her lips. “Raven’s here. She has to be here. If any other Norrains had caught her, all of Norr would know by now. Kenos would have hung her from the great room’s chandelier or some such nonsense.”

“Quite right,” Santiago said. “I believe Khalimat took it upon herself to collect her runaway prophet. Her personal temple guards are capable.”

“What does Alyssa plan to do now that she fled Norr? I don’t give two shits about Kenos and his regime, but I doubt the people would welcome her back.”

“She’s tasked me with keeping an eye on you, and locating Raven. Past that, I don’t know what else she’s planned.” He tilted his head. “Other than warning me to stay out of Olisgard.”

There were few minds as cool and cunning as Alyssa Norxis. And while the situation seemed bleak, there was little doubt in her mind that Alyssa had a plan. She toyed with the hem of her sleeve. “Why warn you to avoid Olisgard? If Raven’s in Kebos, wouldn’t she try coming here to get her?”

“You’ve painted too small a picture,” he said. “Kebos has the bulk of Norrian forces, including the citadel. It would not be easily conquered.”

“Conquered _. . ._ ” The blood drained from her face. “She plans to return to Olisgard.”

“With a few new friends, I imagine.”

**O.O.O.O.O**

Kenos studied the map spread across the table in his chambers. It was the most recent edition, having been tweaked and altered by information gathered from that traitorous Hudar witch. Raven was most familiar with the southern desert surrounding the Spire, contributing many useful notations. Hidden wells, watering holes, caves and tunnels through the torrid, wind-swept land. She had served her purpose, despite destroying his legacy by absconding with his queen. Eventually, she would be found, and he would have his just revenge. Until then, he would prepare.

He picked up several stone-carved figures from the table and deposited them across southern Hudar, denoting the locations of each battalion. No matter the season, Kebos was always heavily guarded by at least one regiment stationed at the citadel. Now there were three, stretching to the Spire, guarding the workers as they continued to mine the bedrock for precious stones and metals. There hadn’t been a reported conflict from any hostiles on the route, suggesting the Hudar had fled north after losing Daskis. Hopefully they’d remain in their mountains, allowing him to pillage every useful resource in that bloody desert. Thousands of Norrians died fighting for that land, and he would not let their deaths be in vain.

A smaller stone token rested on Olisgard, alone in all directions for many miles. With this birds-eye-view of the world, it made the capital seem vulnerable. Northgate’s battalion had returned to full strength. The loyal countries of Duul and Marsinkos bordered eastern Norr, providing security. But in the west, nothing stood between Olisgard and Hudar. Nothing but the perilous Targantis mountain range. No army could cross that land, especially in the dead of winter, and the Hudar didn’t even have an army—

A knock at the door broke his train of thought. He scrubbed his face with both hands and sighed. “Come in.”

Captain Roberts strode into the room and held out a message. “This just arrived, your grace.”

_Oh, gods, what now?_ He took the message, bearing that same, strange sigil, and unrolled the scroll.

_Look around for your proof, helpless shell of a man. I will destroy you._

His blood boiled. Whoever this was, they would die slowly. So very slowly. “Where did this come from?”

“The east again,” Roberts said. “But I don’t believe it’s from outside of Norr.”

“Why? What did you find?”

“Smell the paper.”

He waved the message below his nose, wafting a scent. But what was it? He inhaled deeply, eyes closed while his mind wandered. Beneath the leather of the carrier bird’s pouch lingered notes of incense and something floral. “Is that . . . jasmine?”

“I thought so myself, your grace.” Roberts leaned over the table and tapped a spot on the map. “And that fragrance comes from Kebos.”

Why would anyone from Kebos send him these messages? Could it really be Raven, hidden away in the desert, mocking him? That landscape was her territory, and she knew it well enough to avoid detection. Enough time had passed that Raven could be anywhere. Alyssa could be anywhere. He studied the army of stone figures surrounding Kebos.

Khalimat might shed some light on this mystery scribe.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Alyssa arrived at the elders gathering place as quickly as her legs had carried her. Had they come to a decision? Would they help her rescue Raven? She’d pressed Amara for information along the way, but the woman refused to indulge.

Afternoon sunlight dulled the sharpness of the cold in that open field. The fire pit had already been lit, flames dancing in the breeze. Amara was the last elder to arrive, and she took her seat on the horseshoe of logs around the fire.

Alyssa stood before them, so nervous she might vomit.

The old silver-haired woman, Tamir, stared her down while the others chattered like a covey of songbirds. “We’ve considered your strategy, Norrian,” she said, and the others fell silent. “And have decided against sending any _za’hava_ into Norr.”

Her knees weakened. She staggered backwards. “No. Please, that’s a mistake. I beg you—”

“However,” she continued, voice hard as granite. “Despite our counsel, a number of our people have volunteered to partake in this campaign for your companion.”

Dizziness washed over her. Despite their cultural differences, these people wanted to help her? Was she imagining this? She looked to Amara, who sat still as stone, trying to hide a smile. “They . . . I—how many?”

Tamir lifted her chin. “Two thousand.”

She nearly choked on her own tongue. That meant a quarter of the settlement volunteered to fight. The equivalent of six battalions agreed to trek across the snow-laden mountains because she’d suggested it.  It warmed her heart in the strangest way.

“When will these volunteers be ready?”

“They’ve three days to prepare before starting the march. Allowing two extra days to combat the deep snow, they should arrive in Olisgard on the night of no moon. That’s what you wanted, yes?”

“Yes, yes! That’s perfect. We—I—thank you. You won’t regret this, I swear it.”

“You’re right,” Tamir said. “Should this campaign fail, I expect you to die with it.”

**O.O.O.O.O**

Khalimat lounged in her courtyard, watching the birds flittering about her citrus trees. Now that Raven had been returned, and the festival and ceremony of Longest Night had passed, she finally had time to herself. And what better way spent than soaking in the late afternoon breeze, scented with orange blossoms and lemongrass?

Rhet appeared beside her chaise, arms clasped behind his back. “Priestess.”

_Well, it was lovely while it lasted_. “What is it?”

“A message came from the king.” He extended a sealed scroll.

Exciting news. What manner of entertainment could this contain?

“Also, Santiago Sucocci is here to see you.”

_Interesting_. Very little surprised her these days, but she hadn’t expected to ever see that thief outside of Olisgard. He wouldn’t have come this far south without reason. But what? She couldn’t help the burning curiosity that man provoked. She always had time for a dear old friend.

“Send him in.” She took the scroll. “And ask the kitchen to bring wine and cheese.”

“Of course.” Rhet bowed and left.

She traded the tranquility of her courtyard for the structure of her office, and settled down at her mahogany desk. She popped the wax seal and unrolled the king’s message.

_Someone mocks me, boasting possession of the queen. I believe these messages hail from Kebos. Have you any news of Alyssa or Raven, priestess? There are many places to hide in the desert. Raven could be anywhere._  

Anywhere, indeed. A fascinating turn of events. What convinced him that the culprit of his jeering messages resided in Kebos? Something to ponder over a warm meal. Maybe with good company. She set the scroll aside and glanced towards the entryway.

Santiago strode into her presence with all the dramatic flair of the theatre, as always, wearing a solid black mask with only one eye exposed. He bowed. “My dear priestess, where has the time gone? Look at you, radiant as the sun. How are you fairing?”

Always the charmer. Usually impervious, she found it difficult not to smile. “I’m well. Please, sit.”

“Thank you.” He removed his cloak, revealing a black and tan tunic, broad shoulders and a trim waist. An enticing physique lurked beneath that costume, and she’d always longed to see.

“What brings you to Kebos?”

“Well.” He sat in the chair opposite her desk and steepled his hands beneath his chin. “Tensions run high in Olisgard. I needed a reprieve.”

“Yet another reason why I’ve remained in the desert. Things move at a more manageable pace. It’s much too hot to worry needlessly.”

His eye lingered on the king’s note resting on the desk between them. “Are you really not concerned that your prophet fled with the queen?”

Ah, there was the shrewd man she admired. “Not at all. Are you?”

He chuckled and sat back in his chair. “Concern is far too strong a word. I’m curious how this game will play out.” He tilted his head. “Even if the victor is already known.”

“Because you know the thrill is in that unknown, Santiago. Not who has won, but _how_.”

“And why.” His voice suggested a smile.

She found herself returning that unseen gesture. “What really brings you to Kebos?”

“I’ve come to call upon that favor.”

**O.O.O.O.O**

Seclusion blurred the passage of time, as did Raven’s infrequent meals of stale bread and table scraps. The ache in her bones suggested she’d been down in this horrible place for far too long.

The door at the end of the hall creaked open, ushering in a glowing torch and hooded figure. She remained where she sat, back to the wall, refusing to give her captors any sort of reaction.

The light and figure moved closer, momentarily blinding her.

“I apologize for the torch.” An unfamiliar male voice. The figure stood at the bars of her cell. Torchlight illuminated a black mask with only one exposed eye. “But I’d like to speak face to face.”

She couldn’t resist. “Are you familiar with irony?”

His chuckle reverberated in the confines of her cell. “Well played, Raven.”

His accent wasn’t from Kebos. Olisgard, perhaps. Or somewhere farther north. Meaning he wasn’t a temple guard. Was this a new tactic to harass her?

“What do you want?”

“My name is Santiago Sucocci, and I’ve come to deliver a message. One that requires some preface.”

She’d heard the name in passing, but couldn’t recall much else. “I’ll save you the trouble of this conversation. Just go. Tell Khalimat I’m beyond reproach, a savage animal unfit to see the sun. Tell her I tried to strangle you through the bars and she won’t send you back down here again.”

“You’re just as Melissah described.”

_Melissah?_ Pulse quickening, she sat forward to get a better look at him. Santiago Sucocci . . . Santiago the fence? Could this be Melissah’s mentor from her life on the streets?

“You don’t trust me,” he said. “And it will be difficult to convince you otherwise, so I won’t waste time. It’s after dark on the third of February. From what I’ve figured you’ve been down here since the fifteenth or sixteenth of December. Only Khalimat’s men know you’re here. The rest of Norr thinks you’re still on the lamb with their queen.”

She did the math. Forty nine days in seclusion. A new record, if it were true. She’d lost count somewhere around day nine or ten. “That sounds like something one of Khalimat’s men would say. Something to break my will. If you really are one of hers, you’re doing a dreadful job.”  

He studied her in the silence. “You don’t belong here.”

“That’s a strong opinion, Santiago Sucocci. I’ve done terrible things. A betrayer of Norr and Hudar. I belong somewhere. Why not here?”

“You didn’t ruin your people, Raven. Daskis never existed.”

She must’ve misheard him. Lack of proper food and sunlight meant restless sleep. She was starting to lose her mind.

“Khalimat started the rumor of Daskis decades ago, before you were born. There was no such man. You aren’t responsible for the death of any Hudar, because none were killed. It’s all been a lie.”

“What?” Dizziness hit like a maelstrom. Was this a trick? Another game? Had she really been lied to her whole life? Had all of Norr? Were her people alive and well in Hudar? She’d seen Daskis in her mind. Seen his face. Tracked his movements across the mountains, but . . . Khalimat had given her the belt and knife sheath used as the focus to find him.

Her stomach shriveled hard as stone. It took a moment to find words. “Who were the men slain on the mountain?”

“Why do you care about dead Norrians?”

She lurched upright and slammed into the bars. “ _Who were they?_ ”

“Thieves.” Santiago retreated out of reach. “Just a crew of thieves traveling the edges of Hudar. They were avoiding the outposts on their way past Olisgard. They were also avoiding me and the substantial debt they owed.”

The man seemed different from this angle. Less imposing, protected by iron bars and that strange mask. If any of his tales held merit, he’d played a hand in wrecking her life.

“What you’ve told me, Santiago, is that you were involved in this game.”

“No, no.” He shook his head, held up his free hand. “Khalimat asked me for a favor, and I granted her one without fully understanding its implications. Had I known what would come of this, I wouldn’t have indulged her.”

“Oh? Why were you important enough to even warrant her attention?”

“Once upon a time, the Lioness was just a cub trying to find her place in the world, and my line of work made me privy to everything of importance in Olisgard. Twenty-five years ago she was a priestess working her way through the temple hierarchy. She came to me seeking someone trustworthy to deliver messages for her. I put her in touch with the thief, whom she then worked to death. Quite literally.”

It wasn’t hard to see. When she’d run out of use for the thief, Khalimat had given Raven some of his personal items, purposely targeting him to be killed. The catalyst for her master plan. “And what was the price for her request?”

“A favor owed, and one I held onto until today. She allowed me a private audience with her captive prophet.” He squinted his one eye. “Lucky me.”

Could she trust this information and the man giving it? She desperately wanted to. Wanted to be free of the guilt. Free from the consequences of her actions. She wanted to believe her people were alive and flourishing in Hudar. She longed to be with them. With Alyssa.

“However, I do apologize,” he said. “I had hoped to have schemed a way to free you by now, but I’m afraid Khalimat’s too thorough in your supervision. Melissah suggested many creative ploys, but all would expose me as the culprit in your escape. And the longer Khalimat believes me loyal, the better for all our sakes.”

She knew the layout of this dungeon all too well. It was impossible to escape by design. She would have to be let out by someone with the key. Unless she miraculously discovered a way to remove the silver band. “Why did she start the rumor of Daskis? What purpose did this serve?”

“Mostly entertainment, I imagine. Norrians latched onto the idea of that barbarian king like no other. She pitted two adversaries against one another and watched the battles unfold. And as I’m sure you’re well aware, she rules this desert and everyone in it. I dare say she answers to no one.”

“She . . .” Sickening realization took hold. “She manipulated Kenos into invading Hudar.” Who else had she manipulated over the years?  

“Precisely. And your adventure has really made this interesting. Kenos has no idea the Hudar are intact and capable of a campaign. Khalimat’s hoping he will continue pushing men into Hudar, where they will eventually be slaughtered. I think she hopes to weaken Norrian morale enough they turn their backs on Kenos and pledge themselves to her.”

“That sounds like Khalimat.”

“However, neither king nor priestess are aware the Hudar have an unexpected advantage.” Santiago leaned closer to the bars, that one dark eye catching the light from his torch. He extended a scrap of folded paper. “Hell hath no fury.”

She opened the note to find a message written in Hudari.

_Hold out, my charming dark traveller. I bring vengeance._

Alyssa’s handwriting. She’d recognize it anywhere. Her legs turned to wet noodles. “She’s alive. _Where?_ _Where is she?_ ”

“My dear, she’s a lot closer than you think.”

**O.O.O.O.O**

Against all doubts and sentiments, the _za’hava_ trekked eleven days across the Targantis and reached Olisgard on a moonless February night. Atop her hardy gelding, Alyssa marched alongside them, taken aback by their speed and grace. Never before has she seen so many people move so efficiently. Due to the terrain and season, that span of the mountain range was not patrolled, and they did not cross paths with a single Norrian. Even the weather had cooperated, abstaining from dumping any more snow on their journey. Perhaps the gods were on their side. Despite their natural stoicism, a strong morale permeated the army. Because there wasn’t another word for such a show of force. The Hudar had formed an army.

And that army now waited in the thick forest just west of Olisgard, fed, well-rested and ready for battle.

Alyssa shifted in the saddle and scanned the imposing stone walls guarding the sleeping city of five thousand Norrians. “There it is, Garfield. It seems smaller, doesn’t it?”

Amara moved up beside her without a sound. She and the rest of the Hudar had donned headdresses hewn from animal skulls and bones. Paired with the scarves across their faces and black billowy robes, they demonstrated their earned moniker as wraiths.  

“You’re sure about this?” Amara said.

She nodded. “There’re twelve soldiers posted at that gate. Twelve more at each of the other three gates. One company of a hundred men stationed at the palace. The battalion in Northgate’s a half-days ride away. And the remaining regiments are all south and more than a week away. Olisgard doesn’t stand a chance.”

“That’s not what I meant. Are you sure you want to betray your people?”

She glanced to the countless Hudar hidden in the trees. “A little late now, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps. But I would like to know.”

Weariness had weighed her down for ages now, it seemed. Looking upon the city she’d called home the past decade sparked a whirl of memories. Some decent. Most unappealing. The handful of cherished times were the hardest to let go.

“There are people in Olisgard that I care about, yes. But given the circumstances, they’d understand.”

“And your king?”

Dominick hadn’t crossed her mind since she’d arrived at the settlement. If humans really were more than the sum of their parts, he hadn’t possessed enough decent traits to overcome his atrocities. He had the opportunity and ability to _be_ more, and instead he chose to _acquire_ more. Selfishness outweighed selflessness. She had seen the error of her ways. He was willfully blind to them.

She focused on the faint glow of the palace in the distance, and nothing but rage stirred inside her. “He’s not my king.”


	11. Chapter 11

Melissah perched on the edge of the chair, elbows on either side of parchment spread across Santiago’s rickety table. A schematic of the temple of Sekhmet. Their growing contribution to setting Raven free. It’d been nine days since Alyssa’s last message warning them to stay out of Olisgard. An army marched on the capitol—their home—and they had told no one. Sitting idle this long, awaiting her reply, had take a toll on their morale.

She tapped a spot on the temple drawing. The kitchen. “It’s the only way.”

Santiago lounged on the pallet of blankets in the corner of his one room abode, twirling a coin between long fingers. “Normally I’d argue against absolutes, but I’m fairly certain you’re right.”

From her persistent snooping and his recent visit with Khalimat, they’d deduced there were only two stairwells leading to the lowest level of the temple. The well-guarded route stemming from the temple proper, and a servants’ tunnel from the kitchens, leading to a root cellar. She’d sketched the layout as best she could, plotting the measurements and counting bricks until her eyes ached. She was certain the wall at the back of the root cellar shared a wall with Raven’s cell.

“I can slip into the kitchens and play the part,” she said. “I’m good at deception.”

“But not so good at subverting stone.” He flipped the coin into the air and caught it. “Unless you’ve been hiding certain talents from your dear old friend.”

“Nothing of note, at least.” Getting through stone would be a problem. A pick and small spade would be helpful. And a mallet and chisel. And a means to carry the tools without invoking suspicion. She had a bag somewhere that would suffice. “How long would it take? Chipping a hole in the wall large enough to fit Raven?”

“If sound and location weren’t an obstacle, I’d say an hour or so, depending on the stone quality. But what you’re suggesting?” He moved the coin across his knuckles in a shimmering wave, over and over again. “Well. I really can’t say. With the unavoidable noise you’d be discovered before you made much progress.”

She needed a distraction. Something loud and boisterous to draw attention elsewhere. But, what?

“What if the market caught fire?” she said. “The temple’s far too close for anyone present to not leave to aide the firemen.”

“Not an optimal distraction. This city was built of stone, which as you know does not burn. The blaze wouldn’t last long enough for you to knock a hole through that wall. Someone would hear you.”

Indeed, demolishing a wall would cause quite the ruckus. She wasn’t unfamiliar with manual labor, but swinging heavy tools was nothing she’d spent much time on in practice. It was called skilled labor for a reason. Stonemasons didn’t flail about, swinging hammers and picks without care. They were strong, yes, but what made them so adept at their craft was their accuracy. And while demolition wasn’t her chosen field, she was very well versed in precision.

“It still wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“I do so admire your ambition.” Santiago rolled to his feet and paced to the window. Early morning light shone through the murky glass, highlighting a lock of black hair peeking from the edge of his mask.

“Admiration will get you taken advantage of. You told me that, if you recall.”

He braced both hands on the sill, fixated on something beyond the glass. “I’ve said many things. Not all of them wise.”

“What’s troubling you?”

“All these years I’ve prided myself on cleverness. Three steps ahead with the endgame decided.” His shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. “But I’ve been played a fool all along. Her web is so well woven, I don’t know if Khalimat can be beaten.”

“Everyone can be beaten, Santiago. Khalimat’s pride will be her downfall, and we’ve the wit and grit to see it through.” She tapped a spot on her map. “And we’ll start with taking away her prophet. One way or another. If it comes down to it, I’ll sing and dance in the streets like a loony, and you can do the heavy lifting in the cellar. You’ve seen a shovel before, yes?”

He turned from the window, that one eye wide. “That’s it!”

“I was joking. You know I can’t carry a tune, and I suspect you’ve never dirtied your hands in actual dirt.”

“No, no. Music playing in the temple proper would be plenty loud, let alone a sustained distraction.”

Drums would mask the pounding. As would flute and strings. A loud conglomeration of sounds to muffle her excavating. Everyone in the temple would gravitate to the music. Perhaps even Khalimat. The idea began to grow on her.

“And do you know of any available musicians? Or have you been hiding certain talents, as well?”

“Of course.”

“How? We’re in Kebos. You’ve only been here two weeks and with me for most of that time, and—wait. Of course, what? To which question? Musicians or hidden talents?”

“My dear Rose,” he said. “You know I never explain anything.” 

**O.O.O.O.O**

At sunset, Khalimat often found herself on the roof of the temple. Barefoot and alone, she’d paced the perimeter, enjoying the warmth still radiating from the sandstone. As the sun slipped past the horizon, torchlights and fires burst to life across the city, enveloping Kebos in a warm glow amidst the beautiful, moonless night. Beneath a cosmos of stars, she’d sit for hours, gazing. Contemplating. Locating her favorite constellations in her own private ceremony. One she’d created with Raven.

As a child, the curious Hudar would listen, enraptured as she explained the names of stars, the Gods they represented. One of the few moments in their existence when both she and Raven set aside their steadfast opposition and just enjoyed a moment of peace. A reward from the day’s battle.

She’d never had children of her own. Never desired them. But when presented with that terrible little jackal child, she’d felt the first—and only—stab of maternal instinct. A crippling exhilaration and vulnerability all the same. She saw Raven’s intelligence, her gifts. Something to be carefully cultivated. And she had. Being bound to the temple, priestesses abstained from commitment to anyone other than Sekhmet. A fierce warrior goddess, she demanded cunning, ruthlessness and absolute loyalty. As did Khalimat. And Raven had betrayed her.

It hurt more than she cared to admit. It was foolish to think anyone could take the wild out of a wildling, yet she’d allowed herself this weakness. Raven had first been a project, testing Khalimat’s patience and skill. And as they both grew, she realized Raven’s potential was not a novelty. Not a gift for the gods, nor a means of communicating with them. She was a tool. A weapon Khalimat had the mind and foresight to properly wield. And oh, had she ever planned well. Raven performed beyond expectations. Assimilating and upheaving Olisgard. Sabotaging Dominick Kenos’ reign. Stealing his queen.

Khalimat hadn’t, however, anticipated Raven falling in love. That bond meant a shift in loyalty. Devotion to another made the Hudar even more unpredictable. That emotional connection existed beyond Khalimat’s control, and Raven would fight to the death to preserve that modicum of power.

She only hoped that time would remedy Raven’s insolence without creating a larger problem. She’d invested so much in her, and despite the staggering work it would take getting her back in line, Khalimat looked forward to the challenge. Maybe she’d pull Raven back to the surface tomorrow, and see how well seclusion had subdued that rebellion. She did so miss their conversations.

“Priestess?” A temple adept approached from the stairs. “Santiago Succoci is here to see you.”

_Well, well_. A pleasant change to her evening ritual. She’d love to pick his brain of a great many things. “You may send him up here.”

“If you’ll allow it, priestess, may I suggest meeting him in the temple proper?” The young woman did her best to conceal her excitement. “He’s brought something with him you might find pleasing.” 

**O.O.O.O.O**

_And so it begins._ Two thousand Hudar awaited in the tree line outside Olisgard. Jarl took twelve _za’hava_ and began the careful approach to the city, crossing the expanse of cleared land around the walls. Alyssa accompanied the seasoned warriors, dressed in the simple black robes she’d been given at the settlement. This undertaking had been her idea, and she would see it through to the end. 

Moving in a natural depression in the field, all fourteen spread out in the shadows, they were nearly invisible. Alyssa scanned ahead, picking out the hidden watch posts spaced along the top of the wall.

“Shift them left,” she murmured. “A little more and we’ll be in their blind spot.”

Jarl slowed and altered the direction of the entire group with a hand gesture, all twelve warriors understanding and implementing the command without a spoken word. Moving as one insidious entity, they crossed the open field with ease and hugged the boarder wall, stalking closer to the western gate.

She’d drawn the layout of the wall for them, noting all the places a soldier could be when they arrived. The location of the portcullis controls, and how many men it took to open. Where the archers and carrier birds lurked in the tower. Jarl and his men had everything they needed, including the cover of twilight.

The last time Alyssa crossed this gate, she had been sneaking one Hudar out of Olisgard. Now, she’d escorted two thousand skilled warriors to the capital. Her stomach twisted into knots, over and over again. They would swamp the city, overpowering the guards and anyone who stood against them. Countless Norrians would die. Some innocent. Perhaps even some she cared for. And the same fate could befall the Hudar.

Jarl halted his men beside the gate and touched her shoulder. “Are you ready?”

“Why did you agree to this?” She nodded to the dark horizon. “All of you risked your lives crossing a frozen mountain, and now you’re prepared to charge the capital of the strongest military force in the land—because I asked you to. Because I’m trying to save one life and willing to risk thousands in the process.”

He snorted and shook his head, the bones of his headdress clattering. “You only have one life to risk, Jinx. We came for our own reason. Some for revenge. Some, glory. The same happened when Norr’s army invaded our land and forced us to come together to survive. We’re all here because we want the same thing in the end.”

Did they? She swallowed the gravel in her throat. “And what’s that?”

“To live.”

A tingle zipped down her spine. She drew the short, curved sword from the sheath at her side and hefted its weight. Balanced, easy to maneuver, and sharp enough to flay to the bone. The Hudar’s deadly weapon, that when paired with their skill and nimble horses, had decimated Norrian troops for years. She’d never been in battle, never even seen one. But that didn’t matter. Her purpose wasn’t to lead or rule.

It had taken a lifetime to discover how unjust Norr had been to the Hudar. She had accomplished so very little while queen. But now she knew what needed to be done. Her purpose was to level the playing field, redistributing power. A wildfire to scorch the earth and start anew. The chaos in opposition to order.

“Then let us live,” she said. “Or die trying.”

Jarl grinned, all teeth and bones and black scarves. “To the wind, brothers.”

In the blink of an eye, all twelve men had vanished, leaving her and Jarl alone beside the gate. The twenty-foot walls were useless against their ability to jump through the veil. Had the Hudar unified earlier in their culture, they’d have made an unstoppable force. Who knows how the world would have changed?

_Well_ , she watched the top of the wall. _Better late than never_. She’d prepared for screams. Some sort of struggle, at least. Nothing stirred but the cold breeze humming through the open field.

Two bodies crashed to the ground on either side of her.

“Shit!” She leapt back, heart pounding in her ears, and leveled her sword towards one figure.

“Easy,” Jarl chuckled. “They’re dead.” 

Two Norrian soldiers lay in boneless heaps of armor. Fallen—or thrown—from their post at the top of the wall. She nudged one with her boot. Undoubtedly dead.

A groan of wood and metal followed, pricking the hairs on the back of her neck. The massive gate swung open into darkness. Unbelievable. They’d breached the walls with twelve men and without a sound.

Then came the thunder of hooves. Hundreds and hundreds pouring from the forest like dark, rushing water. The ground trembled, growing with the size and momentum of that terrifying Hudar wave.

“Wait for the riders to pass,” Jarl said. “Then follow me.”

“Right.” Throat tight, she waited by the gate as the first Hudar warriors in history invaded the city of Olisgard. 

**O.O.O.O.O**

Long robes clasped in one hand, Khalimat descended from the roof and paused at the bottom step. A lone string instrument hummed a haunting tune, beckoning her down the hall. Her skin pricked and heart sped. _That man._

Two dozen musicians awaited her, seated at the feet of Sekhmet, amongst the fire and daily offerings. A myriad of drums, flutes, and strings. At the forefront, Santiago played a seven-stringed lyre, drawing the bow with the confident skills of a virtuoso. He’d forgone his usual full mask for one that left his jaw uncovered.

And what a jaw it was. Strong, tanned and peppered with dark stubble. He met her gaze and grinned perfect white teeth.

Her stomach warmed. She tilted her head, trying not to return the gesture. “Is there a reason you’ve invaded this sacred space, Santiago?”

“We’re celebrating, of course.” He continued to play, pressing strings with one hand while the other worked the bow.

A temple adept approached, carrying a chair, and set it down beside her. Khalimat glanced across the space, finding servants and guards peering into the room. Gravitating to Santiago’s beautiful melody. She couldn’t blame them.

“Why is there cause for celebration?”

“The night is young, the gods are merciful, and you, my lady, deserve your own special offering.”

He was playing more than just that lyre.

Santiago closed his eye and composed in earnest now. Sawing the strings, evoking sounds she’d never heard before. The tempo quickened, music swelled, and when the rest of the musicians joined in, the awe-inspiring presence took her breath away. She eased into the chair, enraptured. 

**O.O.O.O.O**

Madness had officially descended. Swallowed in darkness, in a quiet so complete, the rhythmic rush of blood in Raven’s ears became deafening. The never-ending _whoosh—whoosh—whoosh_ battlingwith the incessant voices in her head.

How long had it been since Santiago had visited? Four meals ago? Five? Were those meals spaced per day? Every-other day? What was Alyssa planning? Had she truly found the remaining Hudar? She had to get out of this cell.

_Chink!_

A new sound added to the strain on her threadbare sanity. Loud and sharp, it echoed at a frequency just below unbearable.

_Chink!_

Was it even real? Or had she not suffered enough in this hellhole that her mind needed something else added to the agony?

_Chink!_

Gods be damned, she couldn’t take much more of that sound. As pleasant as a pickaxe to the forehead.

_Chink!_

A . . . _pickaxe?_ She felt along the walls, trying to locate where the sound originated. Palm pressed to the rough stone, she counted the cadence of strikes, absorbing the unknown possibilities of their existence. A new form of torture? Construction elsewhere in the temple? What awaited on the other side of that wall?

Over and over again. Time passed. The sound changed frequency, becoming deeper, more hollow. Louder. Closer. And closer. Until—a beam of light shot into her cell, blinding as the sun. She fell backwards, shielding her eyes.

“Raven?” A voice filtered through a small hole in the wall, muffled and familiar.

Had she lost her mind? Was this really happening? She scrambled to the hole, no bigger than her fist, and peered through. “Who’s there?”

“Oh, my mistake. I’ve broken into the wrong dungeon. Let me just put this stone back.”

“Melissah?” She shifted her head left, then right, trying to get the angle right. “How did—where are you?”

“The root cellar.”

“Where’s Alyssa?”

“Leading an army of Hudar to demolish Olisgard. We haven’t heard back from her in several days, but I imagine she’s a tad busy at the moment.”

_Hold out, my charming dark traveller. I bring vengeance._ Pride and fear and longing surged through her veins, fierce and overwhelming. She rested her head against the wall, sides heaving with each breath. Alyssa was alive. She was coming back for her. They would be together once again. Nothing would stop them. _Nothing_.

“Raven?”

She licked her lips. “Yes?”

“Here.” The light through the hole dimmed. “Have some figs. This is going to take me a moment.”

Stretching her fingertips into the hole, she plucked several dried figs and shoved them into her mouth. The tart sweetness nearly brought her to tears. Khalimat was starving her, a tactic she’d used to break her will in the past, but it had never lasted this long before. Weakness had seeped into her bones.

“Watch yourself,” Melissah said. The pounding resumed, amplified by the opening in the wall. Each hit growing louder than the previous, accompanied by Melissah’s heavy breathing. Chips and chunks of stone tumbled into her cell. Slowly, the hole grew larger.

“I can help.” The prospect of escape set her heart at a frantic pace. “Hand me a tool.”

The pounding stopped. “What?”

“Give me a tool. Something—anything. I can work on this side.”

“Okay,” she panted. “Good idea.” Melissah pushed something through the hole. “Try this.”

Raven pulled the heavy object free, running it through her hands. A steel mallet. The weight of it solidified her resolve. She would be free of this place. And then?

She had her own vengeance to unleash. 

**O.O.O.O.O**

“We’re under attack!”Kenos lurched upright in bed, blind and disoriented. Torchlight poured from the open door as a silhouette rushed towards him in his darkened bedroom.

“You’re grace, the western gate’s been breached.” A young soldier, one of the newer recruits. “They’re flooding the city!”

The words took a few moments to register. “ _What?_ Who’s charging?”

“Hudar. Hundreds.”

Was this a nightmare? Surely he’d awaken any moment now.

“You’re grace?” The young soldier’s hand trembled on the grip of the sword at his waist. “Did you hear me? Hudar have overtaken the city. They’re everywhere.”

The following chills reaffirmed his wakefulness. He scrambled out of bed and stumbled to his wardrobe. “Where’s Captain Roberts?”

“Downstairs with the last of the guard. We’ve barricaded most of the doors to the palace.”

“How many men are with him?” He fumbled with the buttons of his tunic and turned back to find the boy frozen. Too young for battle. Too young for anything, really. His stomach churned. “What’s your name, soldier?”

“G-grayson” The word thawed his stance. “Richard Grayson.”

“A southern family. Proud and loyal.” He clasped a hand on his shoulder. “Now, how many men does the captain have?”

“Thirty-two.”

_Sweet gods above._ “Listen to me. Go to the aviary. Send word to Northgate and Kebos. Tell them Olisgard has fallen—Grayson, I need you focused.”

“Yes, sir.” The soldier nodded, chin trembling. “Send word to Northgate and Kebos. Olisgard has fallen.”

“Make sure those birds make it over the wall.” He pushed him towards the door. “Go!”

Grayson skittered away, armor creaking. Chances were slim the boy would complete his mission. Chances were slim for them all.

Kenos threw on his coat, grabbed his sword, and barreled into the hall. How had the Hudar breached the walls? How had they crossed the frozen Targantis? Was Raven with them? Was this her doing?

At the top of the stairwell he paused to look out the window. Down below, a writhing mass of barbarians overtook the streets, fields, and vacant spaces between the outer walls. Thousands of them ravishing Olisgard.

His knees nearly gave out. 

**O.O.O.O.O**

Santiago’s music drifted in the air, making it’s way down the narrow staircase from the kitchens. Stunning music. Something Melissah normally would’ve found fascinating, had she not the important task of releasing Khalimat’s most prized possession. She’d been swinging away for sometime now. Pausing often to listen for trouble. Collecting the chunks of stone and hiding them in a basket of wheat. She’d purposely chosen the spot on the wall between two tall shelves and started the demolition at knee height, hoping to avoid detection should she need to quickly hide the evidence. Coupled with the dim light from three oil lamps spaced about the cellar, her confidence slowly grew. They were making great progress.

Voices caught her ear over their rhythmic hammering. Her heart leapt to her throat. She leaned over to speak through the hole. “Stop, stop! I hear someone.”

“It’s almost wide enough,” Raven said. “Just a few more hits and I can squeeze through.”

“Just wait—they’re coming down the stairs! Hush.”

“Fine.” Her disembodied voice was not pleased.

Melissah set her tools aside, then moved a wooden crate to obscure the hole. By the time she stood and brushed herself off, footsteps had reached the bottom of the stairs. _Gods above, be merciful._ She grabbed a clay crock off the nearest shelf and turned.

A middle-aged woman strode into the root cellar. “Sweet Sekhmet!” she startled, hand to her chest. Dressed as one of the temple adepts, she carried herself with an air of importance that would be easily pandered to. “What are you doing down here?”

“Salted mackerel, my lady.” Melissah lifted the crock. “Brother Zacari requested fish and pickled vegetables. Something to snack on while watching the musicians, I suspect.”

“Fine, fine.” She waved her off and moved to the shelf on the far wall, near the wooden crate. Near the almost-freed Hudar.

Melissah’s hands trembled. She swallowed and stepped closer. “My lady, may I help you find something? I inventoried this store today.”

“That won’t be necessary. I’m just browsing.” The adept sifted through jugs of wine and mead, moving closer to the crate. “Go see to Brother Zacari.”

Stealing was more like it. She could solve this problem. “Yes, my lady.” Melissah took one step towards the stairwell, lifted the crock to eye level and let go. The clay shattered on the floor, scattering salted fish everywhere.

“Have a care!” the adept yelped.

“Apologies, I—I lost my grip.” She dropped to her knees, scrambling to sweep the dehydrated fish into a pile without much effect. “Gods damn me, I’m a clumsy fool.”

The woman stormed over to her. “You better hope that wasn’t the last of the fish.”

“It’s not. There’re four more on the—” she looked up and froze.

Raven appeared behind the adept like a wraith emerging from shadows. Long black hair matted. Tan servants’ robes dusty and torn. Face streaked with grime, sweat, and fresh blood oozing from a scrape on her cheek.

“On the what?” the adept barked. “What are you gawking at—”

Raven jerked her backwards, into a headlock. One arm hooked beneath her chin, the Hudar held tight while the woman gagged and flailed and— _snap!_ The adept’s lifeless body dropped to the floor with a meaty _thud_. 

Melissah cleared her throat. “Well. It’s nice to see you—oh god, no—”

Raven stalked over the body, snatched her by the arm and pulled her into a fierce hug. She blinked, cheeked pressed to the rough-spun cloth of Raven’s tunic.

“Thank you.” Raven sobbed into her shoulder, trembling like a beaten animal. “ _Thank you_.”

“Shh, none of that.” She held her back just as tightly, feeling how thin and boney she’d become these long, dark weeks alone. _Gods, this poor woman_. “Hold it together. We’re not out of danger yet. I need you strong, Hudar.”

“Right.” Raven eased away and caught her breath. “Right. Gods, I thought I’d die in that cell.”

“I imagine that was the desired effect.” She eyed the adept crumpled on the floor. “Now, let’s get you changed into something a little more presentable. Those will do nicely.”

Raven stripped the robes off the woman and replaced her torn rags with much haste. She fussed with her long mats of hair, trying to throw it into a simple braid. “What’s happening in the temple?”

“A musical performance. Most everyone’s preoccupied. Stop, stop.” She swatted her hands away and tended a few wild strands, tucking everything down. “There. That’ll suffice. Now, we’re going up these stairs, to the left, down the rear corridors to the stables. We’ve horses waiting, tacked and full of supplies.”

Raven nodded, fiddling with her robes. “I’m . . . too weak to make it to Olisgard. But I’ll try.”

“I’m not sure there will be an Olisgard by the time we get there. We’re going west. Santiago has a safe house on the outskirts of Kebos. We’ll await word from Alyssa and go from there. Now enough fretting, we’ve no time to waste.”

“You sound just like her.” Raven lifted her chin. “Lead the way, little queen.” 

**O.O.O.O.O**

What better way to finish off an exciting evening than a hot bath? Lounging in a carved granite tub, filled to the brim with eucalyptus and spearmint scented water. Browsing from a plate of fruit, cured meats and cheeses. Sipping the finest sweet wine the north could produce.

Khalimat had always suspected Santiago’s tastes of the flesh. His appreciation of the arts and finer fares, coupled with obsessive attention for detail could only deceive for so long. That one clever eye spent little time observing the opposite sex.

And yet, here he relaxed beside her, sated and naked, save for that mask. She adored his anonymity, paired with a sharp mind and enticing physique. He’d been the most satisfying man she’d ever had in her bed, and she’d never gazed upon his face. A clandestine lover without attachments whom she wouldn’t mind seeing again. And again.

“It’s true, what they say.” She plucked a grape from the tray and slipped it between her lips. “You’re full of surprises, Santiago.”

There came that smile again. “You’re not without your own revelations.” He lifted her foot from the water, rested the heel on his shoulder and slid those strong hands down her calf, kneading and caressing as he went. “I didn’t think a lowly thief would be worthy of the high priestess. Especially one planning on shedding that title for something a little more . . . sovereign.”  

“Don’t get too comfortable. I might require more from you than sweet nights.” She flashed her own lazy smile. “Should you be interested in games larger than your circle of thieves, that is.”

Loud footsteps approached, echoing in the hall. Rhet skidded into the steamy room, eyes wide and dark skin paled. “Priestess, there’s—” He averted his gaze and backtracked for the door. “Apologies. I did not think.”

“Clearly.” She sipped her wine. Santiago continued his soothing ministrations. “Well, what have you come to disturb me with?”

“This just came from Olisgard.” He inched close enough to hand her the message and retreated. “It wasn’t addressed to or from anyone.”

“And what excitement befalls our capital now?” She unrolled the tiny scroll, written on bloodstained parchment in near illegible handwriting. 

_—Hudar have breached the walls. Thousands. Olisgard has fallen—_

A glacial chill washed over her despite the steam rising from the bath. _Hudar? Thousands?_ There hadn’t been any sightings of Hudar along the southern routes or passes. Where had they come from?

She exhaled a flutter of anxiety and steeled her jaw. “Summon the commander of the citadel.”

“He awaiting you downstairs, priestess,” Rhet said. “I’ve already alerted the guard and requested a company of soldiers to defend the temple.”

“Good.” She handed the scroll to Santiago.

He sat up and read the message, lips pressed thin.

This changed everything. She’d planned on the Hudar remaining in their land and slaughtering Norrians as they continued to pillage the desert. The logistics of moving thousands of Hudar across the frozen mountain defied all comprehension. How had they united? And why?

“Go see to the commander.” She waved Rhet off. “I’ll be down shortly.”

He hesitated near the doorway. “There’s something else.”

“What?” she snapped. “Out with it.”

“Raven’s gone.”

_Goddess, no._ She blinked. Blinked again. Yet there he stood, frozen dumb and terrified. Rightly so. It took every ounce of composure not to scream. “Explain.”

“She escaped sometime during the performance. The guard on duty went to feed her and found the cell empty. She’d cut a small hole through the wall shared with the root cellar. We found one of the adepts dead beside the food stores, stripped of her clothes.”

“Cut through stone?” Khalimat launched to her feet, water cascading down her dark skin. She stepped out of the tub and strode towards him, hands trembling. “Are you an idiot? She didn’t escape—someone set her free!”

“We had the stairwell guarded, priestess.” He clasped his hands behind his back, jaw tight and gaze on the floor. “There’s never been a need for the guard to patrol the kitchen. Nearly a foot of stone separated the cell from the storeroom—”

“Is the kitchen not in this temple?” She fisted her hand in the front of his robes and jerked him close. “Are you not a guard—the _head guard_ of this temple?”

His bottom lip trembled. He would not meet her gaze. “Yes, priestess.”

If anyone else had delivered this news, she would have already parted their head from their shoulders. His loyalty and years of service granted him this momentary reprieve from her wrath.

“You will find her, Rhet, and you will not return until you do. And if you set one foot in this temple without her I will flay your skin from bone and leave you in the desert for the buzzards. Do you understand?”

“Yes, priestess.”

“ _Go!_ ”

He darted from her presence like a man fleeing an angry lion.

She turned, finding Santiago beside her, still naked and message in hand. “This might be a blessing in disguise.”

“How? How can I overtake a kingdom when the stronghold of the crown’s overrun with Hudar?”

“Simply.” He pulled her close and brushed his thumb along her jaw. “You come to Olisgard’s rescue. Lead the southern troops to slay the barbarian hoard. It’s in your blood, priestess. You’re born of fire and fury, just as the goddess. You were meant to rule this kingdom. What better way to start than cleansing the land with fire?”

An appealing notion. She hated the north. Hated Olisgard. Why not let the Hudar ravage the land, then scorch the earth and plant anew, from the safety of the sandstone kingdom she already ruled? The desert far suited her.

“And what of Raven? She’s dangerous. Unpredictable. Capable of untold atrocities. I _need_ her. ”

“She’s a marvelous specimen, yes, but she is undeniably your creature. With your charmed silver band keeping her in check, she’s powerless. And from what you’ve told me, she’s required your guidance to manage and suppress her madness. I don’t think she’ll stray far, for fear she will deteriorate without you. We will find her. Reshape her to her former condition, and you will have your Hudar witch at your side once again.”

That subtle _we_. It would be difficult to rule alone. Difficult and lonely. She traced her nails down his chest, following the marks of passion she’d left behind. Maybe he was worthy after all.

“Come with me to meet the commander.” She cupped his cheek, gazing into the depths of that one dark eye. “I’ve another use for that mouth.”

Santiago grinned like a snake charmer. “I’d thought you’d never ask.” 

**O.O.O.O.O**

Alyssa strode through the streets, following the throngs of Hudar invading Olisgard. She’d given the _za’hava_ no orders, no direction. They were here on their own accord, acted however they saw fit. Remains of Norrian soldiers littered her path, throats slit and stomachs eviscerated. But there were no fires. No senseless destruction. The warriors move swiftly and with purpose, slaying those who fought and leaving those who yielded.

As the neighborhood grew denser, she passed whole families sat on the streets, hands bound and seemingly unharmed. No one recognized her. With her braided hair covered with a scarf, she blended in with the Hudar. A blessing, because she needed to make it into the palace without much affair.

The western entrance door had been obliterated, by force or _za’hava_ magic, she couldn’t say. Shards of dense red oak scattered the ground, impaled the walls. Just inside the corridor, four dead soldiers laid in a creeping pool of blood. Poor souls who died doing their job. Following orders. Protecting the king. She continued forward, following the ingrained pathways she’d always taken through the palace.

Past the great hall, where the infamous sword and wolf skull helm had been removed from display. The toppled, granite thrones reduced to rubble. Bodies lay everywhere, Norrian and Hudar alike, illustrating a brutal battle where not four months prior, all of Norr had come to celebrate. She stepped over an armor-clad body, catching a glimpse of the captain insignia on his shoulders. Roberts, the king’s right hand.

She continued past the kitchens, where a group of cooks and servants huddled in the corner, guarded by several Hudar, while others feasted on whatever they could find.

Past the courtyard, where she’d watched Alyssa spying on the young men sword fighting. Where she’d enlisted the young woman’s help in acquiring a package from Santiago Succoci. Where she’d last kissed her husband, the very man she now sought.  

She marched up the western, spiral staircase. Down the long hall dotted with bedchambers. Her pace slowed near one closed door, and the faint glow of light seeping through the cracks. The room given to Raven after Kenos’ supposed victory in Hudar.

Her heart fluttered with a rush of memories. The first moment they’d kissed. The following nights spent with Raven, bodies intertwined. Their prolonged and secret affair had led to this moment. Her very own becoming. 

She depressed the handle, drew a deep breath, and opened the door.

An oil lamp burned on the desk beneath the window, illuminating the spacious room. Kenos stood beside the bed, sword in hand, dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, tattered and covered in blood.

He blanched. “Alyssa?”

“Hello, Dominick.”

“My gods, you’re alive!” He sheathed his sword and stepped towards her. “I’ve—” Then his gaze roved across her, shifting from surprise, to confusion, and finally . . . understanding. “No.” He retreated until his back hit the wall. “ _No_. You—you brought them here?”

“I did.” She remained just inside the doorway, sword at her side. “They spared as many as were willing. You should set an example and surrender.”

“ _What?_ ” He lurched towards her, hands trembling. “Why? Have you gone mad?”

She raised her sword. “You’ve no idea just how mad. Step down from your title and you may yet live.”

“Alyssa, you’re my wife— _my_ queen. What are you doing with those barbarians?” 

Footsteps strode in from the hall, preceding the imposing frame of Jarl. His presence made the large bedroom drastically smaller. The _za’hava_ thrust his chin towards Kenos, bone headdress rattling. “Is this him?” he said in Hudari.

She nodded. “He won’t surrender.”

“Good. Kill him.”

Her heart pounded, straining within the confines of her tightening chest. So many years spent together, and it had come to this. Dominick was handsome and unfaithful and utterly pathetic. Still.

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You can,” Jarl said. “If it’s right, you can.”

“Unbelievable!” Kenos barked. “Listen to you, grunting in their tongue. Alyssa, please. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal. I understand that. You did what you had to and survived. You _survived!_ Don’t do this now. Call them off and we can fix this.”

“I am fixing this. Mending the mess you’ve made of the world.” She lifted her chin. “Be a good king and surrender.”

He shook his head. Laughed. Ran a hand over his face, gaze fixed on the bed. “How long had you bedded that Hudar before you ran away with her?”

“Every night she spent in Olisgard.”

He clenched the footboard, shoulders heaving. “Gods, you’re an unfaithful bitch.”

“As are you. The only difference being I’ve far better taste.”

He scoffed. “And where is your pet witch now?”

“Don’t you know? Khalimat has her.”

Something passed over him, a cold, disturbing revelation. He looked away, working his jaw.

“Ah, so you didn’t know. All these years you’ve been her pawn.”

“What are you saying? Speak plainly.”

“Dumbing it down, as you wish.” She smiled coldly. Cold as that night on the mountain, waking to find Raven gone. “There was no Daskis of the Hudar. They weren’t scattered to the winds. Khalimat’s pitted Norr against Hudar for the last thirty years for her own personal gain. We’ve been played.”  

“No, _I’ve_ been played—by Khalimat, that fucking Hudar witch, and you. Of all people, _you_.” He drew his sword. “You made a mockery of me!”

Jarl stepped towards him.

She held up her hand. “Would you give me the room?” she said in Hudari.

Jarl chuckled and left, footsteps thudding away, joined by others in the distance.

Kenos stared like he’d never laid eyes on her before. “Why are these people fighting for you?”

“You’re a fool. An entitled, arrogant, willfully ignorant boy with a crown. Lower your sword. I won’t ask again.”

His face flashed red. “Who the fuck do you think you are? A spoiled northerner, raised by servants in your perfect countryside estate. Doted on and catered to your whole life. I gave you everything, _everything_ you could dream of! How _dare_ you threaten me!”

“I dared.” She spread her hands wide. “And eagerly await your reply.”

Predictably, he rushed forward, sword drawn back for attack.

She looked to the large stained-glass window. Cleared her mind. Directed that negative energy to a deserving target with a flick of her wrist.

The window exploded inward, pommeling him with glass and pressure. He stumbled and fell to his knees, sword bouncing from his grip. It clattered to the floor at her feet.

“How did—” He hissed, pulling a shard from his arm, then scrambled to his feet. Blood oozed from a dozen fresh gashes in his chest and face. Shoulders heaving, he started her down while a kaleidoscope of emotions washed over him. “ _Why did you leave me?_ ” It erupted from him, hot and terribly fragile. “For her? For _them?_ ”

“We’re the barbarians.” The words flowed calmly, but her chest burned with molten rage. “Cruel, greedy savages demolishing the land, stealing children and murdering innocent lives. The Hudar aren’t fighting for me. I’m fighting for them.”

“You’re fighting for her!” he spat. “You ruined everything for a bitch you hardly know!”

“That’s the hardest to swallow, isn’t it? Not me forsaking my marriage, my wealth, or my standing in the kingdom. But that I did it for a woman. What a blow to your ego.”

He quivered, scorching gaze darting to the sword at her feet. 

Drumming in her ears matched the building pressure at her fingertips. “We’ve spilt enough blood already, Dominick. Don’t do this. Just surrender.”

He rushed for her in an explosion of speed.

She flicked her fingers and stepped out of his path.

The sword launched from the floor as if shot from a crossbow, striking his chest. He choked, staggered past her and crashed into the wall. The tip of the blade protruded from his back, glistening in the lamplight. Shoulders heaving, he turned to face her, supporting himself on the edge of the desk.

He gurgled, blood staining his teeth. His eyes had never been so blue, so clear before. “You . . . _witch_.”

“ _Zvenya_ , actually.” She grabbed the sword and wrenched it free. He collapsed to the floor, reaching for her, even as the life bled from him. “And I go by Jinx now.”


	12. Chapter 12

Dawn’s first light filtered through the stained glass windows, illuminating the palace’s great hall in a myriad of colors. Alyssa sat at the head of the table, absorbing the surrealism of the morning after invading Olisgard. The morning after killing her husband, the king of Norr. His blood clung to her black robes, only hours old and still fresh in her mind. She’d only killed one person in this battle, but carried the weariness of hundreds of deaths.

Amara and Jarl sat on either side of her, their bone headdresses resting on the table amongst scraps of bread and glasses of wine. An oddly comforting image and intimidating all the same. Just a few months prior, this very room had been flooded with pretentions, back-stabbing Norrians, celebrating Norr’s victory at the Spire. What would those very same nobles think of that victory now? They’d have a thing or two to say, she imagined. No blade was quite so sharp as the Norrian tongue.  

“The remaining soldiers have been rounded up,” Amara said. “Eleven, all young. They’re quartered in the herb garden off the kitchens.”

What to do with them? Could men pledged to Dominick Kenos be trusted? Or were they all better off just killing them? She kneaded her temples, trying to quiet her mind. “Okay. Has the final count been finished?”

“One hundred and seventy-three dead. Twenty-six civilians who took up swords against us, and the rest were uniformed soldiers.”

A smaller number than she’d prepared for. Much smaller. The sneak attack prevented unnecessary bloodshed, catching everyone off guard and unprepared. “How many Hudar were killed?”

“Seven,” Jarl said.

“Pardon?”

“We lost seven men and two horses.”

“How in blazing hells is that possible?”

He grinned. “Were you expecting us to fail?”

“No, I just anticipated more of a struggle, I suppose.”

The large hall door groaned open, releasing a rabble of voices as a young warrior entered. He approached the three of them, head held high with the natural boldness of the Hudar, handed something to Amara, and left without a word. Regardless of location, she radiated the cool confidence of a true leader, and Alyssa was beyond grateful she’d come along on this radical journey. Amara brought a sense of normalcy she’d grown so accustomed to in Hudar.

Amara unrolled a carrier raven’s scroll, as always, expression unreadable whilst she scanned.

“News?” Alyssa asked.

She set the message on the table. “For you, I believe.”

Heart in her throat, Alyssa read tiny, familiar script, written in Norrian.

_Our bird is free. Where shall we fly?_

Raven was free. _Melissah, that angel!_ Tears clouded her vision. She cleared her throat and looked away, fighting for composure. A fine pair of fugitives they’d make. Melissah would keep them hidden, and Raven would keep them safe. Gods, Raven was only six days away. Five, if she pushed her fastest horse. The hot bloods from the south were unbelievably swift mounts. It took every fiber of strength to remain seated at that table instead of blindly rushing south like a fool.

A fool madly in love.

Amara touched her shoulder. “This is good news.”

“Yes, but she’s not free of danger yet. Khalimat will send men after her, the very same who captured her on the mountain. Raven’s only options are to head west, into Hudar, or north, to Olisgard.”

“Tell her to come here,” Amara said. “We have men to push south to cover her approach if need be. We will see her safe again.”

The steadfastness of the Hudar still caught her off guard. These people had come all this way on her word. They’d risked their lives to help retrieve one woman, because she’d asked them. She, a nobody in the greater scheme of the universe. A nobody who looked the other way while the Hudar were driven out of their lands. Every day, humbled by gestures such as this, Alyssa felt as if she’d finally found a cause worth fighting for.

“You’re sure? Raven being on the loose will force Khalimat’s hand. She will stop at nothing to get Raven back, and I mean nothing. She has five thousand well-trained soldiers at her disposal, and I don’t imagine she minds losing the brunt of them in the process.”  

Amara shook her head. “One so blinded will make grave mistakes. Pride is a hard lesson to swallow, especially for a lioness.”

“Maybe so, but statistically, she can still cause a substantial impact. Especially since we’re in the middle of two armies.” She pushed aside glasses to expose the intricate map of Norr carved into the tabletop, a beautiful and useful work of art. She tapped the northernmost city. “The battalion in Northgate would’ve mobilized by now. Three-hundred soldiers. Population around two-thousand, so some may join the fight. I don’t imagine they’d try to attack Olisgard now, but they may try skirting the city in hopes of rejoining the southern army.”

“They won’t make it far,” Jarl said. “Before the ambush I sent fifty men ahead to scout. They’ve shot down every raven coming to and leaving Northgate. As of dawn, the soldiers have mustered but remain within the city.”

“Impressive military strategy. Some unorganized barbarian you are.”

“It’s good to be underestimated.” He snatched the closest hunk of bread and kicked back in his chair. “Northgate won’t be a problem. These walls are strong, and they aren’t prepared to siege Olisgard. Neither will the army in Kebos, I imagine.”

“It’s hard to predict what Khalimat will do.” She fiddled with Melissah’s message, re-reading the tiny words, hoping to extract further information from so few letters. _Where shall we fly?_ They’d go wherever she told them, without question. The trouble was, she couldn’t decide where that should be.

Amara nudged her with an elbow. “What’s troubling you?”

“If I tell Raven to come here, she will, and at speed. Five or six days, depending on how far outside Kebos they are. But she’s already a target, and I’d be calling her to the most dangerous place in Norr, filled with angry, vindictive people more than willing to sell her back to Khalimat.”

“And if you urge her west, you’d be sending her into the most dangerous place in Hudar,” Amara said. “The Spire lands are filled with soldiers. The mountain storms grow fiercer by the day. It would take her weeks to make it to the settlement—if she even knows how to find it. She could very well die on that journey, and you might never see her again.”  

Reasonable counsel, but it didn’t make the decision any easier. Her heart ached for Raven. She’d give anything to touch her again. But she could never live with herself if something happened to Raven because she hadn’t been careful. Because she’d let her guard down again. Because she wasn’t strong or brave or smart enough to keep them safe. _Again_.

Jarl snorted. “Gods above, Jinx. After all this, you’re getting cold feet? You want to suffer _sira kavi_ alone the rest of your miserable life?”

“Oh, you mean like you?”

He blinked, thick brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?”

She rested her chin on her fist, head tilted towards the silent and undeniably striking Amara. “We all know you didn’t come on this suicide mission for me or Raven.”

“What? No, I’m not—that isn’t—we’re not talking about me. I came with my men. It’s an honorable battle for any _za’hava._ ”

A faint smirk curved Amara’s lips, so smooth and sly she’d almost missed the gesture. Those two would make a great couple, should the louder, brasher of the two work up the courage and accept the futility of his stubbornness.

“Honor. Right. And I’m the one with cold feet.”

He huffed like an angry owl. “Just, call your lover bird here so we can get on with this campaign.”

Alyssa tipped an imaginary hat. “Of course, your grace. Consider it done.” 

**O.O.O.O.O**

Raven jerked awake. Sunlight poured through curtains above her, flooding a small stone room in blazing yellow. Was it afternoon? Or a hallucination? After so long in darkness, the shades and contrast of daylight seemed bizarre. She caught one fluttering curtain and rubbed the material between her fingertips, mesmerized by the texture until sunlight reflected off that damned silver band, thin and snug against her wrist. A bothersome disadvantage, but it alone would not keep her from Alyssa. Short of death, nothing would stand in her way. She untangled herself from linen sheets, crawled out of her bedroll, and pulled on a clean tunic.

Melissah dozed in the corner of the room, curled in a heap of blankets. After the break-neck race from the temple, navigating desert roads by moonlight, they’d arrived at Santiago’s safe house and promptly collapsed. Melissah had insisted Raven take the bed, and she didn’t have the energy to argue. It had been the most restful sleep she’d had in months.

“Raven?” Melissah stirred, for a moment appearing like the harmless young woman most people saw, not the calculating thief who’d outsmarted a temple full of guards. “What time is it?”

“Time is a construct. Go back to sleep.”

“Ugh.” She flopped to her other side and pulled the covers over her head. “For a moment I thought we weren’t still in this horrid desert.”

Raven shuffled into the front room and eased the curtains aside, taking in the bustle of the outside world. Santiago’s modest abode stood on the banks of the river, amongst an agricultural and fishing community. A thin swath of fertile soil on either bank produced an array of crops that were traded and sold on the streets of Kebos, a short ride to the east.

It had only been several hours since her escape from that fucking temple, but Khalimat knew by now. What a shame she couldn’t witness the delivery of that difficult news. Would dear Rhet somehow manage to keep his head? If so, he would be quite motivated to retrieve Khalimat’s coveted prisoner. Precautions were necessary.

Santiago possessed a plethora of clothing to suit her needs. His too-large robes disguised her lithe frame, now exceptionally thinner. She covered her head and face with a tan scarf and slipped out the back courtyard, following the hard-packed dirt path to the shelter of the pole barn. A nicker preceded Avarice’s large head as it swung over the post fence, bringing along a mouthful of hay.

“Good morning, beast.” She palmed his forehead, scratched beneath his forelock. “It seems you received far better treatment than I did. You’re downright plump.”

It may have been foolish to flee Kebos on a large white horse. Easily recognizable and remembered, even for the oblivious. A less flashy mount would have been prudent, but she couldn’t bear to leave him behind. Not after all they endured together. Avarice deserved to graze lush mountain pastures for the rest of his days, not spend them standing in a wooden stall in this desert hell.

“We’ll see if we can’t dirty you up a bit. Make you a proper nag. Have you ever pondered life as a chestnut? What about a liver bay?”

He happily chewed his hay, ears flicking at the buzzing flies.

Black might be easiest to achieve. A little charcoal in water went a long way, and something easy to reapply when needed. The wisest course of action would be to hitch a ride with a local caravan, taking a slower, less conspicuous pace to Olisgard. Camouflaged horse or not, two riders racing across the desert would draw a lot of attention from scouting soldiers, and especially Rhet.

“Damnit, woman!” Melissah’s shout carried out the windows. “Where are you?”

She was a merciless overlord, that girl.

Melissah clambered into the courtyard, hardly dressed and hair a mess. “I told you to stay inside! Khalimat’s men are combing the desert for you.”

“Imagine how difficult that job must seem.”

“It’s not.” She grabbed Raven’s elbow. “There’re only so many sources of water in this desert, and we’re hiding at the most likely of places. Come on, back to the house.”

Raven allowed the girl to drag her to the shade of the stone hovel. “Then we agree. We should get on the road quickly.”

“When we figure out a destination, yes. But running around blind will see us captured in no time.”

“Where will Alyssa’s carrier bird arrive? Does she know of this house? Will her messages make it here?”

“Yes, yes.” The girl went straight to the pantry, returning with a basket of fruits and dried meat. “We’ve had several correspondences to this location. The birds know the way. She will reply, just be patient.”

“I’ve been nothing but patient.”

“I know. That was poor wording.” Melissah frowned, picking at the basket weaves. “Besides, you need to give yourself a moment to breathe. You said you weren’t strong enough to make it to Olisgard.”

“That was before I’d rested.”

She stared. “You mean the past five hours? That’s resting?”

“After what I’ve been through, yes.”

“I think your brain rotted in that cellar.” She pushed a plate of figs and cheese in front of her. “Eat something. You’re thin as a reed, and I won’t have it.”

Such a bossy little thing. Alyssa had certainly influenced this attitude. Raven bit into a wedge of hard cheese, making a show of chewing.

“Honestly, I don’t know what Alyssa sees in you. You’re infuriating.”

“Perhaps that’s the allure?”

“Yes, well, I’m sure you had no trouble getting her hot and bothered.”

She choked on her second bite. “What?”

“Don’t think I didn’t notice you two,” Melissah said. “The looks you gave one another were not as subtle as—”

The front door latch wiggled.

Melissah stood and glanced to her, eyes wide.

_Stars above, what now?_ Raven grabbed the paring knife resting on the table, then darted to the wall opposite the entryway. How had they found her already? Blood pounded in her ears, growing louder with each thump of her heart. She was weary of fighting, and the brunt of it had only begun. She adjusted her grip on the knife, rehearsing a killing blow in her mind.

The lock clicked, and the door creaked open. A tall, hooded figure in a tan robes slipped inside and bolted the door closed. Santiago lowered the hood, revealing his half-masked face, chin peppered in stubble.

She exhaled the breath she’d been holding, releasing the instantaneous pressure that had built between heartbeats.

“How did everything go—” He jumped when he saw Raven postured right beside him. “Gods be damned, you startled me!”

“You’re lucky she didn’t kill you!” Melissah said. “You could have told me you were coming.”

“To my own home?”

“Yes. She’s a wanted woman, Santiago. We’re all on edge.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.” He reached inside his robes and held up a carrier bird scroll. “This is from Alyssa.”

Raven’s stomach twisted into knots. “What does it say?” 

“I didn’t open it.” He extended her the message. “It’s addressed to you.”

Hands trembling, she inspected the delicate script addressing the recipient, written above an unbroken, unfamiliar seal. _Charming dark traveller_. Only Alyssa had ever called her that. She broke the wax and unrolled the tiny scroll. 

_To the north, my love. Ride like the wind._

As if she’d travel any other way.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Alyssa crossed the herb garden, approaching the eleven Norrian soldiers sat along the wall, disarmed and bound in chains. Young, as Amara had said, having never seen battle before tonight. Never swung a sword in earnest. Still impressionable, with the right tactic.

Three _za’hava_ stood guard over them, bone headdresses and scarves masking their faces.

“There’s bread and pork in the kitchen,” she said in Hudari. “Get your fill before it runs out.”

They left without a word or sound, ghosting towards the kitchen like wraiths.

The Norrian soldiers stared as if she’d just burst into flames. Generally a good sign, in her experience.

“Do you know who I am?”

“You were the queen,” one of them said. A lanky blond with a bloody lip. “Before you were kidnapped by the Hudar witch. Now, I’m not so sure.”

“Oh, don’t let my attire confuse you. I’m still queen.” She paced the line of soldiers, thoroughly inspecting each young man. “I’m sure this seems strange to you. Invading my own kingdom with an army of Hudar. Slaying the king and his men. We’re still paying for our ancestor’s mistakes, where nothing worth having is gained without bloodshed.” She paused on the last soldier. Neat black hair, pale complexion and bright blue eyes. “What’s your name?”

He averted his gaze, squirming in his bindings. “Grayson.”

“And who is your commanding officer?”

“Ah . . .” His wide eyes darted up and away. “You are, your grace.”

Smart boy. He might be of good use. “Come with me. As for the rest of you.” She leveled them with a cool stare. “I’ll return to hear whether or not you believe I’m still your queen. I suggest you give it some thought.”

She strode for the door, enjoying the way her black robes billowed, commanding a subconscious level of respect she’d never considered before. Such a grander exit than a stuffy, useless dress. It made her feel a different kind of powerful. “Keep up, boy.”

Grayson scrambled to follow, chains and armor creaking.

They passed through the main kitchen, stuffed with hungry _za’hava_. Down the main hall, teeming with Hudar. While emptier than usual, the grounds now held an army of curious men and women from another land. Privacy was desired, and she knew just the place.

Down another hall, and then another. The fifth tapestry on the left concealed a dark servant’s tunnel. After a quick glance for prying eyes, she pulled the thick material aside, gesturing. “Quickly.”

Grayson only heisted a moment before stepping into the blackness. “Your grace, I can’t see.”

“Just stay close.” She pushed past him, outstretched hand following the cool stone as the tunnel curved ahead. After a dozen paces, light trickled past the edges of another tapestry. She swept the cloth aside, leading them into a quiet sitting room with large windows overlooking the city below.

Grayson shuffled up beside her, chains clanking, and hungrily pressed his face to the glass. “The city wasn’t burned? It—it looks as if nothing happened. Well, aside from the thousands of Hudar camped along the walls—”

She snatched the neck of his breastplate and slammed him to the wall. While taller and clad in steel armor, the young man seemed to shrink beneath her. “Listen to me,” she growled, knuckles pressed into his throat. “Norr will never be the same after what happened here. Your fate’s yet to be determined, Grayson, so I’ll advise you to choose your next words carefully. Am I clear?”

“Yes,” he stammered, eyes wide.

“How did you survive last night?”

“I—” He licked his lips. Swallowed. “The king commanded I send warning to Kebos. I snuck up the tower to the aviary. I wasn’t seen. On the way back down Hudar cornered me in the residence hall. I fought with another solider until we were captured and brought to the courtyard.”

“And did you complete your mission?”

“The raven made it out the window.” His brows pinched, something flashing behind his eyes. “I . . . I also sent one to Northgate.”

Both Kebos and Northgate would know of the invasion by now, regardless of this boy’s efforts. There were too many Norrians living beyond the walls of Olisgard to contain. And news of this magnitude would spread like wildfire. Still, his honesty was promising.

“You appear to be an intelligent man. I won’t blame you for doing what you believed was right. Nor should you blame me for the same. It’s justice that I’m after, and while it might appear that it’s for the Hudar, in the end, it’s for anyone deserving. And I do mean anyone. No one has to die for everyone to live.”

The fear slowly dissipated from him, replaced with furrowed brows and a strong nod. “You spared me, that’s proof enough.”

She let him go. “Is your family in Olisgard?”

“Down south. Mum’s in Yales with my sister. My father died fighting Hudar at the Spire.”

That fucking mountain. Such a waste of lives. “I’m sorry.”

He bobbed his head and shrugged. “It was ten years ago. I didn’t join the guard for revenge. I just . . . wanted to make him proud, you know?”

Gods above, this boy was too much. “Come, let me see your chains.” She pulled a key from her robes, unlocked the shackles and tossed them aside.

He sighed and rubbed both wrists.  “Thank you, your grace.”

“Don’t call me that. I may technically still be queen, but I’m nothing graceful, nor will I ever be.” 

“Yes, my la—” he stopped short at her glare, gesturing helplessly.

“Just speak to me as a human being. My name is Alyssa. Can you manage that?”

His posture relaxed, shedding an invisible burden between breaths. “I can.”  

“Good. Now, I need help, Grayson. My previous servant is no longer with us, and considering the circumstances, I’m going to have a hell of a time finding someone I can trust.”

“You mean Melissah Rosario.”

Her skin pricked. “You know her?”

“We’ve met. After you went missing, the king wanted her questioned.”

That bastard always hated Melissah. What terrors had he put her through? Jaw clenched, she nodded. “Go on.”

“I escorted her into the palace and she lost me in seconds. Left me standing alone in the corridor like a buffoon.”

Her lips twitched. _Once a thief . . ._

“Made us all look like fools. She eluded capture for weeks. When the king ordered the city on high alert, she tried sneaking out the western gate.” He tugged at the neck of his tunic. Fidgeted. “I confronted her, but let her go. The last I saw, she was galloping away on a shaggy pony.”

An interesting turn of events. “You care for her?”

“It’s stupid. I hardly know her. She’s . . .” He raked a hand through his hair, closed his eyes, and huffed. “Yes, I care for her. Do you know where she is?”

“Of course I do.”

“Is she safe?”

“None of us are safe. The army in Kebos will be visiting Olisgard in the near future, and I’m not sure they will like what I’ve done with the capital. However, as I’m sure you’re aware, Melissah is beyond capable of taking care of herself. In fact, I owe her my life.”

He chewed his lip, gaze wandering to the windows. She’d almost hooked him. A tad more assurance, and this young man would acquiesce her request. “What kind of help do you need?”

“A set of eyes and ears in the streets. The Hudar do not wish death upon any peaceful Norrian, and I would rather head off any contradicting gossip down there before anyone stupidly decides to take action.”

“If they don’t wish death, what do the Hudar want?”

“They want their lands and resources back. They want to be left alone, not mistreated by greedy Norrians. They are not unorganized, unintelligent, or to be underestimated, and the only way to deliver that message was in person, with a show of force. Kenos refused to see reason and it cost him his life. The citizens of Olisgard were spared because they yielded. There can be peace amongst us all, but not while Norr is run by wicked people.”

“It was clever to invade as you did,” he said. “You took the capitol, and cut off the north from the south. Not to mention it’s a jarring blow to occupy the only walled city in the country.”

She fiddled with the hem of her sleeve. “The Hudar did all the work. I just made a few suggestions. As it stands now, I feel strongly that Northgate will concede to however the southern province reacts.”

“You mean however Khalimat reacts.”

“Hence why I’m anticipating some bad weather.”

“Well,” Grayson said. “Then we’d better batten down the hatches.” 

**O.O.O.O.O**

“There have been no other messages from Olisgard, nor word from the king.” Commander Xander pointed to a spot on the map. “But our scouting teams are enroute to the city. We should learn something soon.”

Khalimat toyed with the stem of her wineglass. Xander, like most military officers, did not want to admit the king was dead. Because the queen was surely dead, and with no living heir or siblings during this time of unrest, the power of the crown officially shifted to the next available public figure.

The high priestess, Khalimat.

_How strange the wheels of the world turn, but turn they do_. She’d have to properly thank these brave Hudar for expediting her pursuit of the throne.

She studied the commander, sweating at her mahogany table like a pig known for slaughter. “And what of Northgate?”

“Still nothing,” he said.

“There’re three hundred soldiers unaccounted for.”

“I’m aware.” His jaw tightened. “The ravens never return. I can only assume Northgate’s lost. Perhaps the Hudar invaded there first.”

“If I may interject.” Santiago leaned forward, hands peaked on the edge of the table. At her request, he’d forgone his trademark full mask for the one that left his jaw uncovered, serving to both humanize and elevate him beyond the grasp of these uncultured swine. A smirking, debonair opponent to their stuffy military ways. “It might be prudent to send a message to Olisgard addressing the Hudar.”

“They don’t have a written language,” Xander scoffed.

“Oh, my dear commander, of course they do. And luckily I’ve an adequate understanding of Hudari. I would gladly lend aide in this matter.”

Khalimat smiled through her sip of wine. None of the military leaders were fond of Santiago’s presence in these meetings. A masked street thief advising the most powerful _woman_ in the land. Their loathing and discomfort sated her thirst far greater than any drink known to man.

Xander drummed his fingers on the table, gaze boring a hole in the wall. “And what would you say to these allegedly literate Hudar?”

“Offer a means of communication. Inquire who leads them. Determine their motivation. A hoard of Hudar do not cross the frozen Targantis without reason.”

Indeed, they did not. Why had they invaded?

“Whether or not the Hudar communicate,” Xander said. “It’s prudent to assume they’ve killed every soldier there. The residents of Olisgard aren’t known for their backbones, so we can’t rely on their help rescuing themselves.”

“I’m inclined to agree.” Santiago refilled the commander’s wine. “The Hudar executed a precise tactical maneuver and caught us unprepared. They have the advantage and we best not forget that.”

Khalimat shifted one of her long braids off her cheek, attention drifting. Raven would soon discover her brethren were near. Likely she already had. Would she make the trek to Olisgard, across the open, unprotected desert? Would any of the Hudar be skilled enough to subvert the charmed silver band keeping Raven’s unspeakable powers from her?

Khalimat’s magic was sound. A Hudar base, yes, but honed with Norrian skill. The invocation was complicated, and despite the harmless appearance, the metal would not yield to any force, no matter how hot or formidable. But who knew the capabilities of Raven’s people? What if they could defeat the band?

The Hudar had every reason to want Norrians dead, and they were very capable of fulfilling that desire, with or without Raven. A rather troublesome problem, considering their superiority in open battle, now strengthened by the formidable walls of Olisgard. And looming on the horizon, unpredictable and overwhelming: the possibility of Raven’s fury.

The possibility of annihilation.

Raven dabbled in old magic, channeled from beyond the veil. Beyond the scope of Khalimat’s abilities. With that Hudar free, every passing moment could be Khalimat’s last. Every moment of cruelty she’d inflicted upon that woman flashed behind her eyes, adding fuel to her burning dread. She spun her thumb ring around and around beneath the table, stomach twisted beyond repair. _Out-smarted by the jackal-child. Raven must be reveling. Goddess, grant me strength to survive her wrath._

“Walls or not,” Xander’s voice cut into her internal anxiety, pleasant as a yapping dog. “They’re not prepared to ward off a siege. We know Olisgard, they do not.”

“Commander, if we attempt a siege, we’ll run out of men long before they run out of food.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“And when were you last in Olisgard?” Santiago said. “Their market is bursting at the seams. Even if they haven’t killed the civilians, their food stores would last well into summer.”

Xander huffed, brows pinched. “Then what do you suggest? Concede the northern province to Hudar? Let them infest our lands while we sit like asses in the desert?”

“We concede nothing,” Khalimat snapped. “And I’ll caution you to watch your tone, commander.”

He worked his jaw, likely swallowing a plethora of words he’d like to lash her with. “Apologies, priestess. I meant no disrespect—”

“Your feelings are not required. Should they overwhelm you again, I will see you replaced with someone capable of maintaining composure. Is that understood?”

“Yes, priestess—”

“Outstanding. Perhaps we can get back to the task at hand, now that we’re all reacquainted with our places. Rally the regiment, commander.”

His demeanor shifted from haughty to humble, a proper state for any man who confused his standing while in her presence. “What are the orders?”

“Arm them well and march north.” She steeled her voice. “Surround Olisgard and burn it to the ground.”

Xander sat back, brows arching to his hairline. “What?”

“Priestess?” Santiago’s one eye locked on her, dark and unreadable, though his lips curved in a frown. “You’d forfeit the entire city? All five thousand citizens? Centuries of art, history, architecture?”

He did so love the arts. She could not begrudge his concern. There were many beautiful things in that city, but none were irreplaceable. She’d sooth his woes later in the evening, with a bottle of port and the irrefutable honor of pleasuring her.

“Like an illness, cut from my very flesh. Cities can be rebuilt. New history, created. Even without the army’s numbers, Kebos is twice the size of Olisgard. I will rescue Norr from it’s mistakes once it’s learned from them.” She held Santiago’s gaze, repeating his own words with unwavering precision. “And what better way to start than cleansing the land with fire?”

“I see.” Santiago looked away a moment, lips parted. “Well then. I will be of whatever service you require of me.”

Yes, he did know his place. Such a good man.

Xander cleared his throat. “The resources in Olisgard alone are worth the effort—”

She focused on that galling swine, directing every iota of seriousness in a wordless stare. He meant _nothing_. Deserved _nothing_. And if his next words were not saturated in capitulation, she would feed him piece by piece to the fucking jackals.

“The orders are understood, priestess.”

“ _No_.” She lifted her chin. “You will address me as your superior.”  

Xander licked his lips, defeated as a lowly street dog. “Yes, your grace. We march at first light.”


	13. Chapter 13

Raven’s decision of immediate and swift departure from Kebos did not please Melissah. The young girl followed her around Santiago’s home while Raven packed a bag. Clothing, dull and ordinary, to escape detection. Plenty of layers to add on when the temperature dropped. She needed warmer footwear.

“Don’t be an idiot, Raven!” Melissah followed her to the pantry. “It’s almost five-hundred miles to Olisgard, half of which is barren bloody desert—and Khalimat’s men are scouring every inch of it looking for you.”

Oats and dried meat. It was only a six-day journey, but she was still recovering. Always pack more than needed. Always. “I’ve traveled farther and longer, with more people looking.” She held up a jar of honey for Santiago to see. “May I take this?”

“Of course.” He gestured, picking through the food on kitchen table. “What’s mine is yours.”

“You are not helping!” Melissah huffed.

“No?” Santiago selected a wedge of cheese from the platter, paired it with a slice of cured meat, and took a bite. “The queen asked me to look out for you, and to find Raven. I happen to think I’m doing just fine with those requests.”

A peculiar man for certain, Santiago began to grow on Raven. It felt odd to trust a stranger, but if Alyssa relied on him, she was more than willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Especially after he’d risked his own life helping her escape.

“Well, that’s just great,” Mellisah said. “Humor my misunderstanding for a moment, Raven. You’ve only had a half-days rest after spending seven weeks in a broom closet, and you’re ready to journey across the country with Khalimat’s right-hand man after you? Now, remind me. Eight weeks ago, you were ambushed and subsequently captured by whom, exactly?”

Oh, what a fiery little thing. She often forgot that nearly a decade separated their ages. “That was different. The stakes have changed.”

“Gods.” Melissah raked her hands through her hair and groaned. “You’re being willfully obtuse!”

“If I may interject,” Santiago said between bites of charcuterie. “Travel with a caravan on the trade route. They take a more western path, but carry water for the horses, meaning you wouldn’t have to stop at any of the watering holes across the desert. All the places Rhet will be looking.”

Sound advice. Something she’d already considered, but the spur of the moment decision to _run_ grew difficult to ignore. She fiddled with her cloak. “And do you know of any such caravans?”

The masked man flashed a knowing smile. “I might.”

Weapons. The silver band cut off her magic. She’d need other means to fight. “What about a sword? A bow and quiver of arrows?”

“Easily acquired. I’ve plenty of coin to give you, should you need it on the road. I also find it necessary to remind you that in a few short hours, the entire southern army will be marching north, so the sooner you leave, the better your chances of making it to Olisgard alive.”

“Fine!” Melissah barked. “Fine. Go to Olisgard. But I’m coming with you.”

“Absolutely not,” Raven said. “I won’t risk your life.”

“My life isn’t yours to risk. It’s mine, and I’m risking it to get back home. You’re just a convenient travel companion. Now pack another bag of food. I get grouchy when I don’t eat.”

**O.O.O.O.O**

By midday, Raven and Melissah secured passage with a caravan headed to Olisgard. The only caravan willing to make the journey, considering news of the Hudar invasion. Marcus, the old man in charge—rough as sunbaked-leather and mean as a pit viper—didn’t give a damn about anyone, Hudar or otherwise, getting in the way of his earnings. The handful of coins on top of his normal fee helped sweeten the deal.

Prior to leaving, Raven and Santiago had made quick work of smearing Avarice with wood ash, dirtying his pristine white coat an off-shade of black. He didn’t mind the attention, and after adding the beat-up saddlebags and bedrolls, he certainly didn’t look like the horse of Norrian royalty. Just another precaution to avoid drawing attention.

Several hours into their journey, Raven kept a keen eye turned backwards, watching for anything suspicious. Anything at all. She would not go back to Khalimat. _Ever_. Heightened anxiety translated into clenched jaws and grinding teeth. Her neck grew stiff from being turned. But the hot desert air on her face soothed away a little tension. She was free, atop Avarice, and in a few days time, she would be reunited with Alyssa.

She and Melissah followed behind Marcus’ covered wagon, pulled by two draft mules keeping a steady pace down the trade road. Melissah’s smaller pony—who she insisted returned to Olisgard with her—had to lengthen his stride to keep up. Melissah’s head bobbed along with the brisk pace, saddle bags bouncing and creaking. It would be a long, bumpy six days for her.

Raven took a break from watching to stretch her neck. “Why are you clutching that ratty old bag like it’s your firstborn?”

“This?” Melissah patted the worn brown satchel swinging at her hip. “It’s for Alyssa.”

“A gift?”

“I’ve no idea. She’d sent me to fetch this from Santiago at the market the day you two fled Olisgard, When I’d returned, you both were gone.”

That seemed a lifetime ago. “You’ve kept it all this time and you didn’t open it?”

“It’s not mine to open.”

“You really care for her.”

The young woman shrugged, growing red in the cheeks. “She took me in off the streets. I’ve never had a family, but I imagine she’s what it’s like to have someone to care about.”

Indeed, Alyssa had a way of changing lives. Even if the plan wasn’t always apparent.

**O.O.O.O.O**

As dusk settled over Olisgard, Alyssa stood in the guard tower above the southern gates, gaze fixed on the tree line far across the snowy meadow. Raven should have received her message days ago, and should arrive any day now. But growing excitement warred with crippling anxiety. Since Raven’s escape, every moment became life or death with Khalimat’s men hunting her. Would Raven be in any condition to elude them? How had she faired in captivity? The very thought of her being tormented and tortured set her vision seething red.

She gripped the stone windowsill, shoulders tightening. Raven deserved vengeance. And for her crimes, Khalimat would pay with her life. No matter the cost, Alyssa vowed to see it through. That pretty lioness head would adorn her wall.

The door behind her squeaked open. Grayson slipped inside the small watch room and bolted the door. He’d traded his ill-fitting Norrian armor for a more comfortable tunic and coat, bearing a single black scarf around his neck. Unremarkable to any Norrian, but to the Hudar, it meant ally. A title he’d already proven.

“Everything all right, Richard?”

“Yes,” he panted, out of breath. “I just, received, this.” He held up a carrier bird scroll.

Good news? Or bad? Gods, every moment of unknown made her insides squirm. She took the message, noting Santiago’s unbroken seal.

_Khalimat will burn Olisgard to the ground._

Fire . . . A strategy she hadn’t considered. Her mouth went dry. Why fight the Hudar, even with her superior numbers, when Khalimat could surround the city and burn it to ashes? Khalimat didn’t care if all five-thousand Norrians died alongside the Hudar. She didn’t care about anything beyond the desert.

Alyssa inhaled slowly, willing her heartbeat into a more manageable pace. It was far too late to evacuate the city. Even if they tried, where would they run? Trapped by the frozen mountains, the hostile Norrains to the north, and Khalimat’s army. They’d never make it east, across the vast plains to the neighboring nations of Duul or Marsinkos. The only option was to meet Khalimat in open battle, never allowing the army close enough to the walls to launch a fiery offensive.

Two thousand Hudar against seven thousand Norrians. Her stomach churned.

Grayson cleared his throat. “From your expression, that doesn’t appear to be good news.”

She extended the scroll to him. “Remember the siege we spoke of?”

He read the message, face going slack. “Can . . . does Khalimat have the means to hurl fire over the walls?”

“I have no doubt that woman is capable of fulfilling her threats. She’s skilled in magic and seething in rage.”

“But aren’t the Hudar also skilled in magic? More so, if legends hold any merit.”

“They are.” Gods, they were capable of awe-inspiring acts. But she didn’t want any of them to die in a senseless battle. The Hudar could just flee. Return to the wintering grounds and live out their lives in peace. Khalimat wouldn’t chase them. The lioness would destroy Olisgard and return to the desert, but no further Hudar blood would be spilt.

But the Hudar didn’t answer to her. She had no power over them. If anything, they possessed her, instilling an aching need for change.

Grayson handed her the message. “Then perhaps we have nothing to fear.”

“We shall see if Amara feels the same.”

Alyssa pulled up her hood, masking her blonde hair before leaving the guard tower. She’d kept her identity secret from the citizens so far, and aimed to continue that ruse. Queen Alyssa Norxis died on that mountain, and dead she would remain. The woman who returned to Olisgard in her place bore similar resemblance, but had evolved beyond the realm of her predecessor.

Once reunited with Raven, Jinx planned on leaving Norr for good.

**O.O.O.O.O**

Khalimat despised leaving the desert. She peered through the window of her carriage, taking in the snow-dusted trees. Four days on the road, and the desert had long since perished. She shouldn’t be in the middle of frozen nowhere, surrounded by thousands of soldiers. Despite the cold, the farther north she travelled, the hotter her rage burned. That insidious, overwhelming contempt for most of mankind. She had kept that anger close all her life, thriving in the unbearable heat while everyone else withered away. She’d planned and plotted for decades, and now accompanied an enormous army campaign northward.

_Her_ army.

Marching at Queen Khalimat’s command, preparing to decimate the great walled city of Olisgard. Once worthy of the title, but no longer. The time for small-minded nobles holding court for petty bickering was at an end. Kenos had weakened Norr with his quest for riches at the Spire, wasting a generation of men in that bloody western battle. His only redeeming quality was having Alyssa Norxis at his side. But even in that, he’d failed to do anything other than suffocate an otherwise brilliant woman. A terrible shame she had to die on that ruthless mountain. She had such promise.

Cold air invaded Khalimat’s carriage, seeping through cracks around the window. She shrugged in her heavy robes and blew into her hands, manifesting a sphere of fire between her palms. With a delicate flutter of her fingertips, the flames shifted to the small lantern at her feet, bringing instant warmth to the chilled carriage. Of all the skills she’d acquired during her fifty-seven years, nothing had seemed so perfect for her than pyromancy. And did she ever wield it well.

In flames Norr would be reborn anew, rising from the ashes under her leadership. And once the Hudar were driven back to the wilds, she could appoint new stewards in Northgate and what remained of Olisgard, then return to Kebos to rule from the comforts of her southern fortress. She had no doubts her plan was well within reach. With the number of men at her disposal, it wouldn’t even take very long. Only one unknown possibility gave her pause.

Raven.

Even surrounded by seven thousand of the most capable soldiers on the continent, she didn’t feel safe. She’d never feel safe again until that Hudar witch was back in chains at her side. Captured but not captive. Any notion of re-establishing genuine control over Raven would take years, but something she’d happily take on. Nothing got her blood thumping more than the challenge of dominating a demi-demon.

Khalimat smiled, toying with her silver thumb ring.

_Her_ demon.

**O.O.O.O.O**

The transition from desert to deciduous forest happened gradually. Endless rocky ground shifted to shrubs and grasses. Trees grew more frequently. The sweltering desert heat cooled with each passing day. On the fourth night, Raven woke to find the fire had died and a layer of snow covering her bedroll.

It felt good to be cold. To shiver. To chop wood and warm herself by the fire. Simple, mundane things grounded her wandering thoughts. After having resigned herself to a slow death in that dark cell, every sound and sensation was invigorating. Overwhelming at times, but so unbelievably satisfying.

By the fifth day, they’d lost the advantage of visibility. The dense oak and cedar forest provided them cover, but it also afforded the same concealment to anyone else. Snow cushioned sounds, leaving them with a deceptive sense of seclusion. Since leaving Kebos, they hadn’t seen one sign of Khalimat’s men. Maybe they’d really eluded them. Maybe she’d managed a scrap of good fortune for once in her life. Raven didn’t have much experience with luck, but Melissah was hopeful.

They’d parted ways with Marcus and his mules just south of Olisgard. He’d stuck to the northern road, headed for Jamestown. They’d traveled onward well into the night, and when they couldn’t keep awake, made camp in a thicket off the main trail, huddled in bedrolls while the horses dozed beside them. Now a few hours past dawn, they’d eaten the last of the rolled oats and shared the remaining figs.

“I can’t wait for a proper bath.” Melissah squatted in the snow at a small creek, washing her face with a rag. “Hot water. Hot food. A soft, warm bed.”

“It’s only been six days without those things.”

“Oh, I’m well aware how long I’ve gone without. Six non-stop days of travel, with little sleep, less food, and more fresh air than I’m prepared to handle. I’m a frail little city mouse. Roughing it in the wilds does not suit me. So I’m very much looking forward to my last brisk jog on horseback to that gods forsaken city I call home.”

_Home_.

Raven picked at a splash of mud on her riding trousers. She’d been on the run for so long, the prospect of reaching a destination made her ache. Cosmic exhaustion weighed on her, made each step forward unbearably difficult. Did she really belong anywhere? That ever-present voice in the periphery muttered malevolent, incessant doubt.

She didn’t have a home. She wouldn’t make it to Olisgard. Wouldn’t ever see Alyssa again. She could never escape Khalimat. Never be rid of the darkness. It would consume her.

Consume everything.

That was her purpose.

Bringer of death.

Annihilation.

_No_. She rubbed her wrist, mouth dry and throat tight. The silver band felt tighter than ever before. As a child, the darkness had not yet taken root, so any extended period of time with that cursed band did not cause her trouble. But after a lifetime of torment, those dark tendrils had grown bone-deep, and without her connection to the veil, she had no means to release the building pressure. She needed to let it out before—

Thudding in the distance. Raven glanced over her shoulder. Too far to make out the location in the trees, but the rumble drew closer.

Hoof beats. Too many hoof beats. Her skin crawled.

“Get on your horse!” Raven rushed to Avarice and tightened his girth. “Hurry!”

Melissah swore, sloshing out of the creek like a wet cat and scrambled onto her pony. He danced in a wide circle, eyes wide and ears flattened. “We’re still miles away. We’ll never make it.”

Raven grabbed the pony’s reins and turned him towards Olisgard. “You’ll make it. Ride for the gates. Don’t stop for anything, understand? Do not stop.”

“What about you? Don’t you dare do anything stupid—”

“ _Go!_ ” She slapped the pony’s rump.

He squealed and bolted, nearly slinging Melissah. “Damnit, Raven!” she yelled as they galloped down the trail, out of view in moments. They could make it. But they’d need every second she could spare them.

Raven slung herself into the saddle and tugged her hood low just as riders cleared the far bend of the path.

Two by two, men on horseback trotted into view, bearing white and red robes. Twelve total, all guards of the Temple of Sekhmet. One of the front riders, unmistakably Rhet, slowed the group’s pace as he focused on her.

Of all the unpleasant things to be said about Rhet, lack of determination was not among them. Khalimat would not accept failure, and Raven could not begrudge that motivation. Everything else about him, however; she absolutely loathed.

Raven turned Avarice and positioned him blocking the whole path, their right side facing the approaching guards. Heart pounding, she leaned forward, scratching his mane with her right hand while unlashing the bow from her saddle with the left. “One last run, beast,” she murmured. “I’ll never ask anything of you again.”

“Halt!” Rhet’s voice boomed from afar, bearing all the weight and confidence his title demanded. “Halt and identify yourself!”

She straightened in the saddle, using her cloak and movement to mask nocking an arrow. While not her weapon of choice, she had enough experience to know Rhet needed to be closer to hit her mark. If only she could unleash the pent-up fury trapped beneath her skin. Paint the snow-dusted ground crimson with their entrails. It would be so easy. So rewarding.

So _delicious_.

Hunger growled insider her, craving something other than food.

Sweat pebbled her brow. She tightened her grip on the bow. Avarice quivered beneath her, wound tight as the sinew string.

“Rider!” Rhet unsheathed his sword, starting a chain reaction with the remaining guards. He crossed within range, close enough to see the whites of his eyes. “Identify yourself!”

She twisted, took aim and loosed the arrow, white and black feathers spiraling away before Rhet had time to react.

The arrow thudded flesh. He grunted and wobbled in the saddle, hand to the wooden shaft stuck in his clavicle. Guards shouted and broke ranks, surging to surround their leader.

Rhet growled like a wounded lion. “ _Raven!_ ”

She cued Avarice into a gallop and leapt off trail, weaving between trees, trying to draw the whole group after her. Melissah’s smaller pony, even with their generous head start, could not contend with the speed of these southern-bred mounts. Avarice couldn’t either, but his sheer size gave the advantage with clearing obstacles. He plowed through the brush as if it wasn’t there, covering great distance between strides. Branches snapped and stung her face, but they powered on, racing blindly through the winter forest.

Men shouted behind them, countered by dozens of roaring hoof beats.

_Thwip!_

An arrow zipped past her shoulder. Then another. The trees would only provide her protection for so long.

The cold air burned her lungs, christened with the heady odor of wet earth churned by so many feet. Raven nocked another arrow, turned and fired. Someone yelped. She stretched forward, giving the horse as much rein as she could. The break-neck pace continued, ducking, dodging, leaping through crisscrossed trunks and branches. Farther and farther into the endless woods.

An eternity of running.

Avarice’s sides heaved, but he kept the same terrifying pace. How long had it been? How far had they traveled? How on earth did this poor horse have so much heart to give?   

One last thicket, and they stumbled into the vast, snow-covered meadow surrounding the walled city of Olisgard. Never had Raven thought she would relish the sight of that horrible city. But now, racing towards it, tears stung her eyes.

_Alyssa_.

They were so close. So _close_. Far up ahead, Melissah skirted the road, out of range from the guards and their arrows.

But Raven had lost the cover of trees.

_Thwip!_

An arrow grazed her elbow. Pain shot to her fingertips, hot and instant, but she kept her grip on the reins. She flattened herself against the horse’s neck, trying to minimize their target.

The massive southern gate grew in size as she neared, revealing without a doubt that the impenetrable portcullis was closed. In less than a minute she’d be at the gate, trapped between the twenty-foot walls and Khalimant’s men. Avarice didn’t have enough reserves to make a loop around the city, but she was certain he’d drop dead before he gave up. Dead would be their only other option, because Raven would not return to Khalimat alive.

She glanced over her shoulder, spotting Rhet several lengths behind her. The arrow shaft bobbed from his chest as he whipped his horse hard, gaining ground. Fear and desperation drove him to madness.

“I will catch you!” he screamed. “You will never escape!”

Another arrow screamed past her cheek, missing flesh by a hair. She couldn’t outrun them much longer.

A loud groan jerked her attention forward as the thick wooden gate began to rise. Was this a hallucination? Raven blinked to clear her vision. More movement caught her eye. Dark figures appeared in the distance. Riders? But they moved so quickly. She scanned ahead. Melissah and her pony surged under the open gate, into the city. By her next blink, the dark riders were almost upon her, and the reason for their swiftness became apparent.

_Za’hava_ warriors, adorned with bone headdresses, black robes billowing. Two dozen or more, curved swords and short bows raised, howling as they raced towards her.

A renewed rush of adrenaline took her breath away. It had been so long since she’d seen her own people. And what a sight they were to behold! Perhaps she should be terrified. They might be on their way to kill her. And if she were to choose the manner of her death, she’d rather it be at the hands of Hudar than any goddamn Norrian.

So be it. Let them come. Let her finally be free of this wretched existence.

The first rank of _za’hava_ flew past, giving her wide berth. Raven looked back, catching Rhet’s horrified gaze.

He understood now.

She had told him, on the mountain, after he’d shot her twice and left Alyssa unconscious in the snow.

_You will die._

Pity she wasn’t the one to carry out that promise.

Rhet yanked his reins, trying to turn his horse. The closest _za’hava_ swung their sword and caught him right under the chin. A spray of crimson mist, and Rhet dropped to the frozen meadow in a limp, headless heap.

Screams followed, as the remaining temple guards were slaughtered by the Hudar in mere moments, blood spattering the pristine snow. The _za’hava_ moved with such grace and precision. Shifting from those violent killing blows to round up the guard’s panicked horses, gently herding them towards the gate like lambs gone astray.

The whole picture seemed too perfect. A visceral reminder of something she’d been missing. Something owed.

Raven slowed Avarice to a trot as they passed through the walls, into an encampment of tents and black-cloaked Hudar. They were everywhere, armed and poised and terrifying. Her desire to run melded with the uncanny need to fall at their feet in joy, begging them to make her whole again. To make her _Hudar_.

Evidently overcome with similar emotions, Melissah sat on her pony, frozen in the middle of the main road.

Raven halted her horse beside her. “Are you all right? _Melissah_?”

“What?” The girl jerked to face her, startled as a mouse. “Yes, I’m . . . There’s just a few thousand-too-many wraiths staring at us, but I’m fine. We’re sure Alyssa’s here?”

“Would you like to go back to Kebos?”

“Your hand,” she said. “It’s bleeding.”

Raven turned her arm over and pulled up the sleeve of her robes. The arrow had sliced from elbow to wrist, leaving an open gash dribbling blood down to her fingers. “Just a scratch.”

“It’s a _wound_ , Raven. You’re hurt.”

“I’m always hurt. Doesn’t make much of a difference to me.”

Hooves clattered the road as a single _za’hava_ checked their mount beside them. A massive man with long dark braids and full beard. “Follow me,” he said in Hudari. “Keep your hoods up and stay close.”

It took a moment for the words to register. How long had it been since she’d heard her mother tongue, let alone spoken by a fellow Hudar? The delicate cadence of consonants and vowels induced an instant trance. This truly was surreal.

“What did he say?” Melissah murmured. “Raven?”

She snapped out of the thought and cued Avarice to a brisk walk behind the man. “Follow him.”

**O.O.O.O.O**

Alyssa slumped at the crowded table in the study, scrutinizing the map she’d scribbled across all night. A mug of cold tea and bread sat forgotten in the clutter.

“You really should rest.” Amara perched opposite her, calm and poised as ever. If the Hudar were a culture that valued physical beauty, she would be testament to it. Strong jaw and cheekbones complimented by shiny black hair, braided for battle. “And eat. You never eat.”

“I had breakfast.”

“That was yesterday. The sun has set and now risen since then, and you’ve done nothing but drive yourself into the ground with worry.”

How could she not worry? “You’re sure you want to do this? Risk all your lives for essentially nothing? Raven and I are just two people. Specks of dust in the desert. Not worth all the lives at stake. You should take the Hudar and leave while you can.”

“We aren’t going anywhere,” she said. “We knew the risks in coming here. We’re more than capable of handling the consequences.”

“But we’re vastly outnumbered, and now destined to be trapped and burned alive.”

“The odds are a bit skewed in our favor. Four Norrians for ever _za’hava_ hardly seems fair. But that’s the hand Khalimat’s been dealt.”

Surely Alyssa’s throbbing migraine was distorting her rational thought process. “Did . . . did you just make a joke?”

“I never jest.”  

“How can you be so confident! So sure you’ll manage to survive Khalimat’s army?”

“It comes with age, I’m afraid. You’ll know in another decade or so.”

“If I live through the next week, you mean. If any of us live.”

A knock rattled the door, too loud to be anyone other than Jarl. 

“Come in,” Amara said.

Jarl poked his head into the room. “You got another message, Jinx.”

“Gods, what now?”

“Go on,” he said to someone in the hall, then stepped back. A hooded figure entered, and closed the door behind them.

One of the Hudar? But wearing tan robes. Dirty and incredibly dilapidated . . . Alyssa blinked, heart thundering in her ears. 

Raven lowered her hood, face peppered with grime and hair a mess.

Alyssa launched out of the chair and her knees nearly gave out. She stumbled forward, engulfed Raven in arms and robes and sobs.

Raven clutched her so fiercely she couldn’t breathe, as if no matter how firmly she squeezed, they couldn’t get close enough. As if she would never let them part again. And they wouldn’t. Nothing in the cosmos would stand between them.

“I thought—” Raven’s voice wavered but her arms held tight. “I thought you were dead.”

Until this moment, she had been. Alyssa swallowed through the tears, trying to catch her breath. “Well, you’re not the only one with lives to spare. You’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.”

“Where’s Melissah?”

“Safe. In the kitchens with some blue-eyed boy.”

“My charming dark traveller.” She cupped Raven’s face, cataloguing every inch of skin. Cold, thin and weary, burdened with whatever torment she’d endured these past months, but very much alive. Alive and in her arms once again. “How I’ve missed you.”

“You’re unbelievable. Sacking your own capitol with a foreign army. Look at you. You’ve turned Hudar. Have you completely lost your mind?”

“Oh, yes. From the moment I laid eyes on you.” She leaned in, lips brushing against Raven’s. “I’ve suffered _sira kavi_.”

Raven turned and pinned her to the wall, pressing with a millennium of unfulfilled need. The roughness and urgency set Alyssa’s skin ablaze. Hands roved, desperate for bare flesh, for visceral, molten heat, further stoked by lips and teeth and tongue. She needed to be reborn. Each second apart had spanned a lifetime, and Alyssa wanted nothing more than to live forever in this moment of pure—

“ _Ahem_.”

A jolt of lightning shot up Alyssa’s spine. They were not alone in the study. “ _Shit_.” She untangled herself from Raven, scrambling for composure. “Wait— _wait_.”

But the Hudar had already spun towards the forgotten observer, growling with the ferocity of a cornered wolf. The switch from passion to fury happened with startling abruptness. More so than the woman had ever expressed in the past.

“ _Wait_ ,” Alyssa snapped, hand fisted in Raven’s robes. “This is Amara, one of twelve elders of Hudar. She saved my life. Relax.”

“Well met, _za’hava_.” Amara inclined her chin in the customary greeting. “You’re safe here.”

It took several moments until Raven’s posture eased. She wobbled a step backwards. “I . . . apologies. I’m not quite . . . myself these days.” The color left her face in an instant.

“What’s wrong?” Alyssa grasped her hand as Raven collapsed in a boneless heap. Alyssa dropped with her, catching her head before it cracked the stone floor. “ _Raven?_ ”

She lay in limp stillness, eyelids flickering in a fever dream.


End file.
